The ABC's of Virgil Tracy
by KayValo87
Summary: A series of one shots explaining how the TAG 2015 team can never get anything past their medic.
1. Prologue

Hello again!

Here is the promised second installment of my ABC's Tracys Series. (Try saying THAT five times fast.) Yes, that does mean I plan to write one for each of the boys ( _maybe_ Kayo) and will probably have them all linked somehow. (I actually wasn't planning on that part, but I had this finished before I wrote the epilogue in the last one and figure that one could flow into the other ... well, you'll see what I mean.)

This story is dedicated to nhsweetcherry who wrote "You Can Run, But You Can't Hide" which was the inspiration for all of this. :)

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for doing an over the phone edit with me so it would be ready this morning.

 **DISCLAIMER:** This story is for entertainment only. I do not own the Thunderbirds, their equipment, and will not be able to assist in any way if you try these stunts at home.

* * *

 **Prologue**

Virgil sighed as he looked over his growing list of medical supplies he needed to restock … which was just about everything. For living on an island with a population of eight, they went through things surprisingly fast. He was going to need to order two more cases of bandages, three cases of gauze, and about 600 band-aids. That should get them through the winter, at least. On top of that he was down to two arm slings, three leg braces, two knee braces, two wrist braces, and one set of crutches. That wouldn't be so bad, if he hadn't started with five of each. How his brothers managed to break a brace was beyond him– w _ait_ …

"Brains, did you move any of my supplies?"

"Not since before you started inventory," the scientist replied, somewhat distracted by his own count of spare parts. "Why?"

"I could have sworn …"

He didn't bother to finish his sentence as he wasn't about to get his answer in their store room. Heading back to the infirmary, he checked his first set of numbers to be sure. That confirmed it; he was missing a knee brace.

"Now why would that be," he murmured to himself, already having a good idea what the answer was.

Leaving his clipboard behind, Virgil casually made his way up to the main part of the house to see what his brothers were up to. He found them all in the den reading.

 _First symptom_.

Outside of family meetings, it was rare to find his brothers all in one place without a life threatening reason - not to mention stationary. One or two of them could probably slide under the radar, especially if they had just come back from a rescue. However, there were no call-outs this morning, hence why he had time for a full inventory. No, one of them had taken his knee brace and the rest seemed to be covering for them. Well, he could play this game as well as they could.

"Hey," he greeted, sounding as nonchalant as possible. "Quiet day."

He was greeted with a low muttering of agreement, but only Scott actually looked up. Not enough to say it wasn't him, and the other two wouldn't look up for anything short of a call-out or a bomb threat … maybe Grandma's cooking, but that reaction would fall pretty close to bomb threat. Time to try a new tactic: process of elimination.

"Hey Alan, aren't you supposed to take some supplies up to John?"

"Uh … yeah, but … um … later."

 _Second symptom._

Alan would be eager to test out his new suit, but something was holding him back. Maybe the thought of how painful it would be to move from the couch to his chute? It could be him. Then again, Gordon shot him a look, so the kid might just be covering for someone else. Virgil gave the aquanaut a subtle once over, watching for any signs of pain and discomfort. There was nothing obvious, but he still had to test him.

"Oh, Gordon. Brains was looking for you. He has those new parts for Thunderbird Four."

"Great," he answered, completely calm. "I'll take care of it this afternoon."

 _Third Symptom._

Gordon had been waiting for those part - very impatiently - for weeks and now he was planning to stay on the couch for a few hours? It could be him or, like with Alan, he could be covering for another brother. Maybe Scott? Their fearless leader did look pretty fearless at the moment, but that might just be a front. Fortunately, there was one thing Virgil could do that would guarantee that the one responsible for the theft would reveal themselves.

"Uh-oh," he said, making his voice lower for effected. "It looks like Grandma is trying to make turnovers again. If you need me, I'll be in Thunderbird Two."

He walked out of the room, stopping only when he was out of sight so he could peer around the corner. Sure enough, the panic was starting to spread. Gordon leaped up from the couch – not him – and Alan turned to look towards the door – maybe him. Scott set aside his book and motioned to Gordon, who was quick to help him to his feet.

 _Gotcha!_

A commendable effort, and he had to admire the teamwork involved, but the charade was over. Virgil came back around the corner, thoroughly enjoying the looks of surprise and guilt that came his way as he moved to stand next to his oldest brother.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened or should I guess?"

"I slipped by the pool," Scott admitted. "It's really not that bad."

"Sit."

With a sigh of resignation, he did as he was told. Gordon let go once Scott was settled and started to make his way to the door, Alan close behind. Nice try, but no dice.

"Hold," Virgil barked, freezing them both in their tracks. "Which one of you broke into my inventory?"

"Us?" Alan practically squeaked, quickly clearing his throat with a cough.

"Why would you think we did anything?" Gordon added, with about half his usual confidence.

"Yeah," the younger teen added, with a much stronger voice. "Scott's the one that's hurt!"

Virgil studied the two for a moment, before turning back to his sulking patient. At least his brother had been telling the truth when he said it wasn't bad, and even had the right idea for treatment. Still, he needed to know these kinds of things, _especially_ during inventory.

"Put an ice pack on it for about twenty minutes and try to stay off your feet," he instructed, before turning around. "As for you two, next time you need a brace, ask me _before_ you take it. And Gordon, if you have to get something and I'm not around, don't send Alan; you know he never reads labels."

He let them wonder how he knew what happened while he folded up the brace and tucked it under his arm, ordering Scott to stay, before heading back to the storeroom to get the right size - not to mention wonder at the fact that Alan thought Scott worn the same size knee brace as Kayo. It only took a few minutes and by the time he got back John's hologram had joined them.

"You told him, didn't you?" Alan accused.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," the astronaut insisted. "I've been monitoring a tropical storm for the last hour to see when and where it would hit land."

"Did you figure it out?" Scott asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, but it looks like it's gonna miss the populated areas."

"Good to know," Virgil said, circling the room to reach his oldest brother. "Hey, John."

"Hey- what happened to Scott."

"He got caught trying to hide a minor sprain from me," Virgil answered with a smirk. "Of course he had help."

"So did you!" Alan shot back. "How else could you have known I took the knee brace?"

Virgil chuckled, but said nothing. Let them wonder; maybe it would make them think twice next time. This time, however, everything worked out. Scott would be able to run a marathon in just a few days and his two little brothers knew that it took more than innocent looks to get something past him. Though they weren't the only one curious …

"Seriously, how did you know?" Scott asked quietly.

"It wasn't hard really, not with the amount of practice you all give me in trying to hide injuries."

"What?" Alan scoffed.

"Please," Gordon rolled his eyes.

"We don't hide things that much," John mumbled.

Virgil gave each of his brothers a look before shaking his head and finishing his application of the brace.

"Guys, I could give you an alphabetical list …"

* * *

There we have it!

I now need challenge words to help me come up with ways (stupid and more serious) that Virgil's siblings can hurt themselves and try to hide it.

I look forward to your feedback, comments, and suggestions. :)


	2. A is for Apple Juice

Hey everybody! Bet you weren't expecting this so soon, huh?

This chapter is dedicated to Taylorj2000 for three reasons: (1) Being the FIRST to review to this story, (2) giving me my ONLY prompt for A, and (3) giving me a brother's name to go with it. (I know you said apple juice wouldn't work as an injury, but all I heard was a challenge and I was ITCHING for a challenge.)

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for putting off dinner to get this ready.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **A is for Apple Juice**

Gordon crept into the kitchen, his stomach not letting him sleep until he could find something to fill it. He had all but starved at dinner when the only thing available was the weird meatloaf thing Grandma had served up – made even more disturbing by the fact that she called it tuna casserole. Scott and Virgil had been lucky enough to be responding to a brush fire in the Serengeti at the time, so they missed it.

Some guys have all the luck.

He imagined that Alan would be joining him, unless his horde of junk food was still intact; Gordon had eaten his last few snacks after Grandma made lunch and had been counting on dinner to make up the difference. So here he was, at 1:07am, trying desperately to find something he could eat other than leftovers. He pulled open the refrigerator, its soft glow filling the kitchen as he scanned the contents.

Burned chicken from lunch … nope.

Grandma's tuna casserole … heck no.

Radishes … was he _really_ that desperate?

Apple juice … that could work.

Pulling the jug off the shelf, Gordon set it on the counter and removed the lid – remembering at the last moment what Virgil said he would do to him if he drank out of the carton again. How his brother would find out, _exactly_ , he wasn't sure, but why take chances with a guy the size of a bear? Turning around, he opened a cupboard to retrieve a glass with one hand while he closed the refrigerator with the other.

Bad idea.

The kitchen was darker than he remembered and turning to get the juice only succeeded in knocking the thing off the table. Gordon scrambled to catch the jug, which caused him to drop the glass. Based on the sound, it couldn't have broke into more than five or ten pieces on impact, so at least that was in his favor … kind of.

Carefully putting the jug back on the counter, Gordon backed up to the corner and followed the wall to the broom closet. So far, so good. Now he just had to circle around the table and open the refrigerator to get enough light to-

WHAM!

Apparently he had spilled more apple juice than he thought, but at least his t-shirt was absorbing most of it, so he shouldn't fall again. Unfortunately, his hand found what his shirt missed and the second he tried to push himself up he slipped, slamming back into the floor … right into where the glass fell.

Crap.

 **^A^P^P^L^E^J^U^I^C^E^**

Virgil made his way down the hall, wondering who was up at this hour of the night. He and Scott had got back late from Africa and had pretty much headed straight to bed, which is where he would still be if he hadn't remembered that he needed to set a diagnostic running if he didn't want it to take all morning. He had been halfway to the hanger when he heard the first noise from the direction of the kitchen. Based on how tired Scott had been, his guess would be that either Alan or Gordon were trying to raid the cupboards to add to their respective hordes. Normally he wouldn't care, but _normally_ the two of them squirreling away their nuts for the winter didn't involve breaking glass.

Hurrying upstairs, Virgil went straight for the kitchen to see who might potentially need stitches. Since he wasn't trying to be stealthy, and seeing what you were dealing with was kinda important for a medic, he immediately switched on the light.

"Gee," he muttered to himself, "I wonder what happened here."

A smeared puddle of apple juice was on the floor along with the pieces of what must have been a glass mixed in. The jug was still on the counter, though the lid seemed to have vanished – along with whoever made the mess. The only really concerning thing was the few drops of red mingled with the golden liquid. It seemed more than juice was spilled here.

Knowing that he had to get the mess cleaned up before he had more patients to deal with, Virgil found the broom discarded nearby to throw away the glass and sopped up the juice with a towel. He would have to come back with a mop to take care of any sticky residue, but last he checked, your feet sticking to the floor was not injury inducing. Once that was taken care of, it was time to see which brother hurt himself with apple juice.

He started with Alan, but found the kid sound asleep on his floor. It wasn't likely that he could drop off so soon after cutting himself, but there was always the chance he was faking. Kneeling down next to his little brother, Virgil did a quick visual examination. No obvious markings from the glass, no sign of bruising. He took a closer look at Alan's arms and legs, running his hands along the limbs to check for injury. Nothing. Just to be sure, Virgil lifted the kid's shirt. Not even a scratch.

It wasn't him.

Leaving him to … well, keep sleeping, Virgil slipped back into the hallway. The next room was Scott's and, though he had been exhausted when they got back, there was always the chance he had a craving for a midnight snack. Virgil stepped inside the darkened room, lit just enough to make out the form stretched across the bed. If – by chance – Scott was not the juice thief, he was going to have to tread very carefully so as not to have six feet of cranky brother coming after him.

Virgil lifted the blanket on the end of the bed, checking to see if there was any traces of juice on Scott's feet. He didn't see any, not that he had much of a chance before his brother pulled them deeper under the covers.

"Wha'r you doin'?" came a low grumble as the blankets shifted.

"Just looking for apple juice."

The confusion in the bleary look he got in return was too genuine to be faked and Virgil excused himself with an apology. That only left Gordon. Of course there were more people on the island, but chances were good that none of them would have pulled a slip-and-run. Still, he had to be sure.

Like Scott, their resident squid was in bed, wrapped in a tangled mess of blankets and sheets. His eyes were closed, but he was just a little too still to be truly asleep. As he approached the bed, Virgil caught a whiff of sweetness that confirmed his theories. He grabbed the blanket with his right hand and yanked hard, switching on the light with the other.

Gotcha!

"Hey!" Gordon protested, jumping to his feet. "What's the big idea?"

"House call,"Virgil replied cheerfully.

"What makes you think I need a house call?"

Virgil pointed to his brother's upper arm where five band-aids had been crisscrossed to form very ineffective wound care. It only took five minutes in the infirmary to replace it with a sterile dressing – after he made sure no stitches were required.

"Next time turn on a light," he advised after getting the whole story. "It's safer that way."

"Not if Grandma catches you," Gordon snorted. "Speaking of which, you got any food?"

Virgil shot him a look as he stripped off his gloves, but decided to have pity on him. After all, he did keep food in every emergency kit for … well, emergencies. He tossed him a powerbar and went back to putting away his supplies.

"Thanks," Gordon said, digging into the snack. "You have anything to drink?"

Unable to resist, he handed over a juice box with a large apple on it.

"Try not to spill."

"I hate you."

* * *

So, what do you think of the first hunt for the injured?

Let me know what you think as well as challenge words for B. (I can't write anything without a challenge word.)


	3. B is for Burn

Greetings!

So this is a bit of a celebratory piece as I got my grades back and the class I thought I had a C in I ACTUALLY have a B- in. (YAY!) Add that to my 5 A's and my GPA for the semester is 3.81. (Again ... YAY!)

Anyway, this chapter is for coralie14 for the awesome challenge word. (Honorable mention goes to Erin Elric, who's vote is going to make an appearance as well.)

 ***IMPORTANT NOTE*** These stories take place during the same time frame as "The ABC's of Alan Tracy," so Jeff is still around. Not always seen, but around.

Extra big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for going over this chapter at 2am in order to get it posted promptly.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **B is for Burn**

Scott rubbed his aching shoulder as he dropped onto the couch, so glad to be back home. Cave-ins were never fun, but sometimes they could be especially brutal – especially when your younger brother had to be the one to dig you out. At least the geologists were safe-

"What were you _thinking_?"

Scott looked up to see Virgil glaring down at him, rolled his eyes, and rolled over to get into a more comfortable position – trying his best not to wince when he put weight on his shoulder. He didn't know what Virgil was so worked up about. They got all the geologists out and nobody got hurt … mostly. So he may have gotten in the way of a few falling rocks in the name of science; better him than one of the victims. It's not like it never happened before.

"I was just doing my job."

"No; your job is to save people, _not_ hard drives."

"It had all their work on it."

"For the last week or two, sure," Virgil admitted. "It might be a headache to replace, but it _can_ be replaced. _You can't_."

Knowing that he wouldn't be getting any rest out here, Scott stood up and gave Virgil a reassuring smile. He knew how the big guy felt; he would hate to have to dig any of his brothers out of a pile of rocks, but that was one of the risks of the job.

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

He started to head back to his room, hoping to get a nap in before lunch, but his brother's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"If you don't, I will."

Scott turned to see a look of determination not often seen outside of rescues. He narrowed his eyes and took a step back toward his brother.

"What do you mean by that?"

"One more stunt," Virgil replied, holding up his finger. "Just one more stupid stunt where you get yourself hurt, in or out of the field, and I'm grounding you for seven days."

He would have laughed at the absurdity of it, if the guy wasn't so serious. Who did he think he was? Dad?

"I'm not eight."

"And I'm not talking about sending you to your room," Virgil said calmly. "Dad gave me medical privilege; I can ground you for any reason I see fit."

"Right," Scott scoffed. "So if I fall down the stairs?"

"I'll cite a possible concussion and hold you seven days for observation."

"Cut myself shaving?"

"I claim a risk of blood poisoning needing seven days of observation."

"Stub my toe on the couch?"

"I can say … um … impaired balance due to possible head trauma; seven days observation."

Scott glared, but Virgil didn't even flinch. The worst part was that he would do it. He would ground him from Thunderbird One for any reason he saw necessary. No wonder Gordon and Alan called him Dr. Control-Freak!

"I don't suppose you have any objection to me taking a nap in my room?"

"Just make sure you don't fall off the bed."

With one last look, Scott headed toward the hallway – careful to keep his feet away from the base of the couch. Unfortunately, when he got to his bed, he was too angry to actually rest. The nerve of that guy, threatening to ground him _just_ because he got hit by a couple of rocks on a rescue! Like _he'd_ never been hit by a rock on a rescue.

Knowing that there was no point in even trying to sleep anymore, Scott decided to run off his anger with a few laps around the island. By the time that was done he was starving, so he headed straight for the kitchen. No one else was around – since they had lunch while he was out – so he pulled open the refrigerator to find food for one. He pulled out some cheese, bread, and half a tomato. He put a large pan on the stove to heat with a little bit of oil while he cut the tomato and assembled his sandwich.

Most of the counter-space was taken up by Grandma's pre-dinner prep, so Scott was left with a small space right next to the stove. This was just fine for him as he had always been able to work in tight spaces. However, the sheer range of ingredients meant for dinner had him grabbing some extra bread. After all, who knew when he would get a chance at good food again?

Just as he finished putting together his third sandwich, his elbow hit the handle of the knife and knocked it to the floor, barely missing his foot. He allowed himself a second to feel relief, mostly because he wasn't going to have to test Virgil so soon after his threat, before reaching down to retrieve the blade. He was just straightening up when something hot touched his arm.

"OW!"

He quickly bit his lip, hoping a certain power-crazed medic didn't hear his shout. As no one came running, Scott let out his breath with a low groan. Hot pans do _not_ feel good against bare skin. He twisted his arm, seeing the red strip already visible just above his elbow.

"Okay, it's not that bad," he muttered to himself. "I just have to cool it down and it will be fine."

And what was the fastest way to cool something off? Ice pack. Knowing that he would have to go through Virgil for a one of their gel-based packs, Scott decided to go the old-fashioned route and dumped some ice cubes in a sandwich bag, securing it to his arm with some plastic wrap. Once that was done, he could get back to making his sandwiches. Thirty minutes later, in the safety of his room, Scott peeled off the plastic to see how the burn - oh crap! He grabbed his communicator and quickly called Thunderbird Five …

 **^B^U^R^N^**

Virgil sat at his piano letting the music express his feelings in ways that words couldn't. That fact that his fingers chose to play "O Fortuna" said a lot as well. The notes spoke of his frustration at Scott and how he wished the guy would think for just five more seconds before rushing into something – like a collapsing cave to save a hunk of plastic and aluminum. His fingers sped up as he near the end of the piece, remembering how his heart was racing as he dug his brother out of a pile of rock. Scott had been lucky … but how long would his luck hold?

He listened to the last notes fade, letting his stress go with it. Scott would be fine – his ultimatum saw to that – and there was no use worrying about what might have been. Closing the lid on the keys, he stood up just as John's hologram appeared beside him.

"Hey Virgil, do you have a second?"

"Sure, what's on your mind?"

"Well … I have this colleague who got a burn – really minor – so they put some ice on it."

"Oh, that's a bad idea," Virgil sucked in his breath. "Ice on a burn can cause frostbite."

"Yeah, he … um … figured that out. What's the best way to treat a small patch of frostbite?"

Virgil shook his head at the senseless way some people hurt themselves. First Scott, now this. What was next?

"Well, the best advice I could give is to see a medical professional- wait … who is this?"

"Just … a colleague."

"John, _I'm_ your colleague."

"Yeah … um … it's someone else."

"Obviously."

And he had a pretty good idea of which of their 'colleagues' it was. While normally he would check Alan first – because, let's face it, it was ALAN – he had a feeling the kid was off the hook for this one. Going straight to Scott's room he found his eldest brother sitting on his bed looking at a stripe of skin that was not quite the right color.

 _Gotcha._

Ten minutes later he was loosely wrapping the area in gauze and giving further instructions on how to prevent further damage – like staying clear of large pans of hot oil.

"Thanks," Scott muttered, flexing his arm slightly. "I should have come to you first."

"Yes, you should have," Virgil agreed. "Lucky for you, you'll have plenty of time to think about that over the next week."

Scott gaped at him, stammering out something that sounded like a blend of an excuse and a protest. It didn't make a lot of sense, but then again, that didn't matter. He finished filling out his report, including a line about monitoring for infection for a few days, and walked it up to his dad's desk. After all some time off wouldn't hurt Scott, it might even be good for him.

Maybe next time he would be more careful.

* * *

What do you think?

I look forward to your comments and feedback.


	4. Bonus Chapter 1

**THIS IS NOT CHAPTER C!**

I got a holiday challenge word and decided to use it as my first (of two) bonus chapters.

This is dedicated to coralie14 for the challenge word and nhsweetcherry for writing a story about Virgil's logbook (which gets mentioned).

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for going over this last minutes with a headache. You're a trooper.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Bonus Chapter 1: C is for Christmas Tree**

John opened the hatch on Tracy One, whistling at the size of the Grand Fir Gordon was able to get – especially _into_ the hold of a plane. The thing had to be at least ten feet tall.

"Looks good, huh?" the aquanaut beamed. "I asked for the biggest one they had."

"I can see that," John murmured. "Any plan on how to get it upstairs?"

Gordon's shoulders drooped slightly. Between upgrades and a last minute trip to England, the rest of the family was occupied in one way or another. That just left the two of them to get the tree upstairs and set up.

"It'll be fine," his little brother stated, with far more cheer than John was feeling. "We can get help to Mars in a matter of hours, I'm pretty sure we can get a tree up a few stairs."

"With or without using Thunderbird Three?"

He ignored the question and the two took hold of the over-sized decoration. The twine bit into John's palms, but at least it gave him something to hold onto aside from the flattened branches. With a lot of huffing and hauling, the brothers finally managed to get the tree up to the living room.

"See?" Gordon panted. "That wasn't so bad."

John decided breathing was more important than a witty retort, so he focused on that while he picked up the saw. They just had to take a few inches off the bottom before they stuck it in the stand.

"Hey, do you think I should do that?"

"Why?" John demanded, pausing with the metal teeth against the wood. "I do know how to use a saw."

"Yeah, but it's different with gravity."

Just to prove him wrong, John quickly cut through the base and let the round chunk of wood drop harmlessly to the floor. He gave his younger brother a pointed look and Gordon raised his hands in surrender. Setting aside the saw, he grabbed the base from nearby and fitted it to the trunk.

"Hold it steady," Gordon instructed. "I'll lock it in place."

Again, John decided against a witty retort as he wondered what else he could do while holding the base on a Christmas tree. However, as his brother worked on tightening each side, his hand began to cramp, so he shifted it slightly to-

"OW!"

 **^C^H^R^I^S^T^M^A^S^T^R^E^E^**

Virgil rubbed his stiff neck, wishing that the access tunnels of Thunderbird Two were a little bigger. Granted, he had a lot more room in here than in Thunderbird One, but that wasn't much of a consolation when you were twisted like a pretzel.

"What are we doing in here?" John's voice hissed from somewhere nearby. "I thought the point was to avoid Virgil."

His ear perked up at the sound of his name, causing him to pause in his work. And why, pray tell, were they trying to avoid him? Of course, a better way of phrasing that was: blood, bruise, or broken bone?

"Do you _see_ Virgil anywhere?" Gordon replied, accompanied by the tell-tale sounds of rummaging. "He's probably helping Scott with Thunderbird One."

 _Close._

Virgil looked past his feet to the opening in the bulkhead. It was under a console, so it was likely they won't notice it at all. Just in case they did bother to look that way, he turned off his flashlight and waited to hear what brought them into his plane in the first place.

"Found it!" Gordon announced a second later.

"Remind me why we can't just use the first-aid kit in the infirmary?"

"Because he checks those thing five times a day to make sure we aren't sneaking band-aids," he reasoned. "If something is missing here, he'll just assume he used it on a rescue."

There was a slight flaw – not to mention exaggeration – to his little brother's logic. He did inventory checks of all the first-aid supplies at least once a week and restocked the kits after every rescue. Of course, Gordon would know that if he paid the slightest bit of attention.

"Just hurry up," John groaned. "This stings … and I think I got blood on the floor."

Okay, so it was blood, and not a small cut if he was dripping. Maybe he should get out there …

"I still can't believe you managed to cut yourself on a Christmas tree," Gordon muttered. "That has to be some kind of record there. Maybe we can call Guinness."

"Sure," John shot back. "We can see if they have a category for bloodshed via apple juice."

"As that page no longer exists in Virgil's logbook, that event never officially happened."

Wait – what did he do to the log book? Wanting more answers than spying could give him – though he was still getting a lot more than they usually were willing to provide – Virgil decided that the rest of the maintenance on Thunderbird Two could wait. Not wanting to spook his brothers away from medical help, he quietly set his tools down on the bottom of the maintenance shaft, but what he heard next had him speeding up a bit.

"Do you even know how to clean a cut?" John asked hesitantly.

"Sure," Gordon insisted, "you wipe it off with cotton."

"Nope," Virgil announced, emerging from the tunnel to see both his brothers jump. "That can leave fibers in the wound that lead to infection."

"What are you doing in here?" Gordon demanded.

"My job," he replied, taking the kit from his little brother. "How about you?"

Not waiting for – or really expecting – an answer, Virgil took a closer look at the cut on John's hand. It wasn't deep but was sitting inside of a bruise, which was sure to go with an interesting story. As it turned out, getting your hand caught between a Christmas tree and its stand was definitely a new one for the logbook. Cleaning and bandaging the injury didn't take long and he offered John an ice pack to help with the pain and any swelling. Good thing most of his duties are down with holograms, otherwise he would be off rescues for a few days, at least.

Once that was done, Virgil headed to the infirmary to fill out an incident report and start looking for someplace to hide his logbook ...

* * *

So, what do you think?

I hope to have the real chapter C up shortly, but it depends on how busy I am with holiday work and family.

In any case, I look forward to you comments and feedback. :)


	5. C is for Chickenpox

_**Happy Christmas!**_

I am actually posting this from my dad's house where I am visiting with family for the holidays. However, as I got the thing written, I figured I didn't need to wait.

This chapter is for Madilayn for giving me such an awesome challenge word.

And here is a message from my niece, Katie: "My auntie is a great specialist at stories. Merry Christmas."

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for going over the chapter during her own holiday break.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **C is for Chickenpox**

Alan rolled over in bed, wondering if he had the energy to keep up his charade of good health. He'd had a headache for the last two days and a fever for the last 18 hours or so – which only an oil rig fire in Texas followed by a flood in India had kept their resident medic distracted long enough not to notice. Still, it wasn't too bad. He could still fly Three, just like Scott had promised he could do as soon as he got back from that tsunami in Japan. Of course, he had gotten back the night before – Thunderbird One is not exactly quiet when it lands – but Alan had just been too tired to start bugging him then. Besides, there is no way he would have taken him up in the middle of the night anyway.

After a good night's rest, the teen had been hoping he would feel better and be able to go on that flight. Just eight more hours and he was certified, so why let a little thing like a fever get in the way of that? With that thought in mind, he pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his face – freezing when he felt something that shouldn't be there. Hurrying over to his mirror – as quickly as his fevered body allowed – Alan grimaced at the sight before him. A spattering of red dots ran across his face and neck.

Knowing that a rash like this could get him stuck in the infirmary for weeks, Alan knew he had to come up with a way to hide it – fast! His stealth skills weren't up to their usual finesse, but as Kayo was on patrol and Dad had taken Grandma to the mainland, it was only his brothers he had to worry about getting around. At this hour, Scott would still be on his run and Gordon would be finishing his laps in the pool. That just left Virgil – the most dangerous one of all.

Allowing himself a small sigh of relief at the faint sound of the piano, Alan slipped down the hall and ducked into Grandma's room. It took opening a couple drawers to locate her make-up kit, and then it was a question of finding the right one.

Eye-shadow … not likely.

Blush … no.

Lipstick … definitely not.

Wrinkle reducer … yeah, _no_.

Liquid foundation … might work.

He pumped some into his palm and started to dab it on each of the spots. On the bright side, they weren't red anymore. On the other hand, he looked more sick than ever. Rubbing it in didn't help much because the red would start to come through. He was going to need something else.

Listening for the piano, and relieved that he could still hear it, Alan crossed the hallway into Kayo's room. It felt like crossing behind enemy lines, knowing that any second she could return from patrol and catch him invading her sanctuary – better make this quick. He grabbed the first thing he saw that had the words 'even tone' and raced back to the bathroom. This time it was a powder with one of those little circle pads that he had seen Lady Penelope use a hundred times. Trying to imitate her movements, Alan smeared the make-up over his face and neck … and gave himself an instant tan. How did that happen? The label said just 'foundation'! Oh well, maybe Virgil would believe that he'd just spent too much time at the pool … and maybe fish would grow wings. At least he was still playing the piano, maybe that would give the teen a chance to get to-

"Alan?"

"Virgil!" he squeaked, quickly trying to get his voice under control. "What are you doing here?"

"I _live_ here."

"Yeah, but I heard the piano and … you play."

"Yes," Virgil replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So do a lot of people, like the one in my recording."

Recording! He should have known it was a recording. What was he going to do now? Stay calm, that's what. It is dark enough in the hallway that Virgil shouldn't be able to get a good look at him. Yeah, as long as he stays calm, his brother won't suspect a thing.

"Hey, Alan, could you come here for a second?"

And _that's_ when he ran.

 **^C^H^I^C^K^E^N^P^O^X^**

Virgil chased Alan down the hall, but his spooked squirrel of a brother managed to lose him. Did he go down the the hanger or out to the pool? Backtrack toward the bedrooms or duck into the living room? He couldn't have gone too far – they did live on a rather small island – but if he was half as sick as he looked … Virgil was going to need help.

"Scott, come in."

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Have you seen our slippery little brother?"

"Which one? The squid?"

"No, the squirrel."

"Not since before that second rescue yesterday, but I'm supposed to take him up in Three in a little while."

So that was it! He was risking further health problems just to fly his Thunderbird. That kid was a Tracy through and through.

"Something wrong, Virgil?"

"Yeah, he's sick and I need to get him to the infirmary so I can find out how bad."

"Do you know what he has?"

Despite their belief that he had the power of instant diagnosis, Virgil really couldn't see much beyond splotchy skin and glassy eyes. However, if he wanted his brothers to help him – and not Alan in his quest to hide – he'd better come up with something fast.

"Until I can determine otherwise, I'm operating on the assumption that Alan has the plague."

Okay, so that might have been a little extreme, but it still got every one of his brothers helping him track the little squirrel down. Even John was doing his part from Thunderbird Five. In the end, it was Gordon who finally caught up to him, threw him over his shoulder, and marched him down to Virgil in the infirmary.

"Bring out your dead!" he called stepping into the room.

"I'm not dead!" Alan growled. "I feel fine!"

"He plays the part so well."

Vaguely remembering what movie that came from, Virgil shoved the thoughts aside and took advantage of his immobile brother to get a better look at him. The splotchy skin seemed to be caused by make-up, but he clearly had a fever. Sticking the thermometer in his mouth, he grabbed some alcohol wipe to try to clear away the mess of foundation. By the time he was able to get an accurate read on the fever, he knew exactly what was wrong.

"You know what he's got?" Scott asked, stepping through the door.

"Yup: chickenpox."

"Chickenpox!" Gordon yelped, practically dropping the kid. "Isn't that contagious?"

Deciding not to point out that he picked Alan up after being told he had the _plague_ , Virgil reassured the aquanaut that he was not going to catch it as he had already received the vaccine. Of course, this lead to other problems.

"Why did he get the vaccine and I didn't?" Alan grumbled, scratching his arm.

"Because you are not a full member of the team yet, so you did not have to get all the required shots," the medic explained, stilling the teen's hand. "Just be glad it's only chickenpox. A lot of people stopped vaccinating after the scarier diseases went away, not realizing that it was the vaccines that was keeping them away."

"Maybe we should give him the shots we got early," Scott suggested. "Just in case."

"I'll talk to Dad about it," Virgil promised. "In the meantime, Alan, you are staying right here where I can keep an eye on you."

"Here?" the kid groaned. "But I was gonna go up to Five today and you already said that you guys can't catch it."

"We can't," the medic stated. "Now lay down."

Luckily, Scott backed him up and the pouting teen was soon set up in a bed. While he seemed to feel better when Gordon promised him all the ice cream and pudding he could eat, Alan was still not happy when he was told that chickenpox could last up to two weeks. As island medic, Virgil wasn't too thrilled about that part either.

This was going to be a _very long_ two weeks.

* * *

So, what do you think?

I look forward to your comments and suggestions, but I won't be getting the next chapter up until after Christmas ... but it might be before the New Year.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! :)


	6. D is for Deafness

**Hello everybody!**

I hope you all had a great holiday. (I know I did.) Oh, and just so you know, I did NOT tell my niece what to say in the last author's note. She was standing next to me while I was posting, so I asked if she would like to say something to my readers "all over the world." Being 6-years-old, she eagerly agreed and I just copied down what she said. Moving on ...

This chapter is dedicated to CyanB for the challenge word (though, as I had already done a chapter with Scott, I went in another direction) and all the people who asked for a story with Kayo.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for being an insomniac (like me) and going over this chapter just before 2am.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **D is for Deafness**

Kayo crept through the hallways of the seemingly deserted factory, eyes scanning for movement of any kind. John had detected some power anomalies from this area when the boys were dispatched to handle a fire in a nearby oil field. They didn't appear to be related at first, but then they discovered that the fire was a set-up to lure out International Rescue and that some scans had been made of the pod – and possibly even Thunderbird Two. If there was one thing Kayo could not abide it was someone using her brothers.

"Do you see anything?" Scott asked, his voice seeming louder than usual in the quiet of the building.

"You'll be the first to know if I do," she replied.

Kayo peered around another corner and spotted a light up ahead. Cautiously making her way toward it, she listened to John and Brains giving her more information about the layout of the factory. It seemed she was in the main processing area on the opposite side of the building from the only server room. It appears that she had quite a walk ahead of her – but first she better check out that light and see if she could figure out who she was dealing with.

"Kayo, where are you going?" John's voice asked quietly. "The server room is the other way."

"I know, I just need to see something first."

"Just focus on the scans," Scott advised. "The GDF can handle the rest."

But the GDF wasn't here. Not to mention that protecting International Rescue was _her_ job, not theirs. Still, the eldest of her honorary brothers was always one to worry – especially about the rules – and she honestly couldn't wait until Mr. Tracy returned from his trip to England to relieve their temporary leader. In the meantime, Kayo would just handle this situation as she did every other one: _her_ way.

"It'll just take a minute."

He didn't have much chance to protest as she had reached the source of the light. The room was a lab of some kind full of technology – mostly stolen by the look of it – with a few pieces that gave away the occupant of the facility.

"Guys," she whispered into her comm, "I think this base belongs to The Hood."

Half-listening to the chorus of voices that either suggested or demanded that she leave, Kayo caught sight of something that made her pause. A blinking light in the corner attached to – oh no!

Racing back into the hallway, she almost made it back to the main processing center before the room exploded. The force of the blast threw her several feet and she hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

It was several seconds – or maybe minutes – before Kayo was able to push herself onto her hands and knees. A high-pitched ringing drowned out almost all sound, making it impossible to decipher the voices that had to be yelling through her comm. Hoping that the ringing would be temporary – and knowing that knowledge of it would pull her out of the field – she tried to sound as calm and steady as she could.

"I'm fine," Kayo said, silencing the voices. "Just got the wind knocked out of me."

Another undecipherable message came through, but luckily she knew her brothers very well. It was easy to guess that it was Scott of Virgil offering to come and pick her up, but that was not necessary. She still had a job to do, hearing or no, and she was not going to leave her without those scans.

"No need for a pick up yet," she assured … whoever it was. "I'll let you know if that changes."

The muffled voices seemed calmer and she allowed herself a sigh of relief. After all, she just had to cross a building. How hard could that be?

 **^D^E^A^F^N^E^S^S^**

Virgil stood by the couch, monitoring Kayo's progress with the others. That blast had been too close for comfort, but she sounded as if she got through it okay. He was still going to insist on a full check up once she got back, but so far he didn't see any cause for concern.

"Remember, Kayo," Scott said seriously. "The second you get those scans, get out of there."

"FAB."

"Do you see the server room yet?" Brain questioned anxiously.

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

Virgil stiffed at her words, even as their scientist gave a confused acknowledgment. Disorientation could be signs of a concussion … or she might just be distracted … or she could be deaf. In any case, this could be cause for concern - a very strong cause - and time for him to start diagnosing.

"Kayo," he started, sounding as serious as possible, "do you want tuna pizza for dinner?"

"Wait," Scott cut in, seemingly thrown by the random topic. "Is Grandma cooking tonight?"

Virgil ignored the question, as he was far more focused on Kayo's repose to care how confused his brothers were.

"I'll just be a few more minutes."

General, standard, and _not_ what he asked. It could be a sign something was wrong, but he needed another test or two to be sure. Maybe if he changed his tone …

"I need you to tell me something," he said, allowing his concern to enter his voice. "Should I start breeding dolphins?"

Gordon's excited 'YES' nearly drowned out Kayo's response.

"I said I was fine."

While it was a relief that she seemed able to pick up on his tone of voice, it was still troubling that she was not responding to his questions. Than again, if it was Gordon or Alan posing them, she wouldn't answer either … but he was _not_ Gordon or Alan and she should at least say something about his choice of topic. Maybe he should ask one more, just to be sure; something so ridiculous that she would have to respond to it.

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

"I'll be out of here in ten minutes, just as soon as I get the server."

She'd be out of there in ten minutes alright: that was about how long it would take him to get there. Practically running to his chute, Virgil yelled to his brothers that he would explain on the way. Moments later, Thunderbird Two was soaring away from the island.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scott demanded, as he set his course.

"I'm going to get Kayo," Virgil replied grimly. "She might be partially deaf."

"What?" Alan almost yelped.

"Are you sure?" Gordon questioned.

"Think back to her answers."

"Virgil, _I_ wouldn't respond to those even if I could hear them," John pointed out.

"No, you would," the medic argued. "At the very least, you would tell me to get better timing."

"How do you know it's partial?" Scott asked.

"She can tell we are saying something and seems to be able to understand tone, but there is no way she is understanding what we are saying."

Just to prove his point, Virgil pulled up the scans John had made of the factory, zooming in on the server room. Making sure his whole family could see it, he opened to line to include his honorary sister.

"Hey, Kayo, where should we put the polar bears?"

"I think it's the one on the left," she replied. "Give me a minute to check."

"Wow," Alan piped up. "She really can't hear you!"

Biting back the 'I told you so,' Virgil guided Thunderbird Two in for a landing. He knew there was a risk going in, especially where The Hood was concerned, but he was International Rescue and the needs of the victim came first – especially when that victim was family.

Putting on his power suit – just in case – Virgil headed straight for the server room. He found Kayo unsteady on her feet as she focused on getting the information out of the computer. The fact she had yet to notice his presence was particularly troubling as the suit was not very stealthy. Taking advantage of the metal extensions in his arms, he touched her shoulder, jumping back to avoid a roundhouse kick.

"Virgil?" she said, a little louder than usual. "What are you-"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, signaling for her to hurry while he watched the door. She nodded and went back to work, quickly finding the drive with the scans on it. Once they were removed,Virgil led the way outside, keeping one eye on Kayo and the other on the lookout for danger. Luck was on their side and they managed to make it back to Thunderbird Two without incident.

"Thanks for the ride, but I would have called when I was done."

Virgil gave her a thumbs-up, knowing that anything he said would be lost on her. However, his lack of speaking said more than he ever could.

"You know, don't you?"

He nodded, pointing to his ear to confirm just what he knew. She sighed and slumped slightly in her seat.

"Well, it was good while it lasted."

Turning slightly, Virgil tried his best to indicate that the hearing loss was likely temporary and she would be fine. Kayo only smiled and shook her head.

"No, I was meaning the time that you and Scott didn't know about it. I'm guessing I won't see the outside of the infirmary for a while yet?"

He shrugged and turned back to flying. Even without her hearing, Kayo was still very perceptive, so there was no reason to lie. The fact that Scott was waiting for them in the infirmary was further proof that she was right.

" _It's just minor damage,"_ Virgil reported after he finished the exam, writing out his words on a tablet so she could read them. " _You should get your hearing back in the next 24 hours."_

"I hope you're not letting her off easy," Scott grumbled. "Kayo, you could have been killed out there. Why didn't you tell us you couldn't hear? Of all the …"

" _You were lucky, this time,"_ he continued to write. " _Without your hearing, you will be spared the bulk of Scott's lecture."_

She smiled and leaned back against the bed, closing her eyes to further block out their oldest brother and his rant. Virgil, however, was _not_ so fortunate, and had to listen to every word of it while he filled out his report for Dad.

Yup, she was lucky indeed.

* * *

What do you think?

I look forward to your comments, suggestions, and challenge words so I can get started on the next chapter. (I'm hoping it have it done before the New Year, but my break is proving to be almost as busy as the semester!) Inspiring challenge words will help get it up faster ... just saying. ;)


	7. E is for Electricity

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

Okay, so I'm a day or two late, but this is still my first post of 2017. :)

Quick side note: in the last chapter there was a line where Scott asked about Grandma cooking after Virgil mentioned tuna pizza. While I came up with the idea about the pizza, I need to give credit where credit is due: my beta, 1monster2, came up with Scott's response during a brainstorming session (and I laughed so hard I had to use it). I meant to say something about it in the last author's note, but I wrote it at 2 am and was too tired to remember. Anyway, just wanted to put that out there and give her a special shout out for going over this chapter while sick in bed. (You're awesome.)

This chapter is dedicated to coralie14 and CyanB for the challenge word, with an honorable mention going to Stormyskies89 for coming up with "Energy," which was close to the final word, and my niece Katie who is the newest fan of TAG I know. You see, she asked me to read her my stories (of which she likes "S is for Snake" in Alan's and "C is for Chickenpox" in Virgil's best) and I realized she didn't even know what these guys looked like. Next thing I know, we are watching the pilot together and she " _loves_ it" and her favorite character is "all of them." (I'm a very proud auntie that my little Katie-Kates has such good taste in TV.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **E is for Electricity**

John floated in his central control room, watching the lights on the globe that indicated the location of Thunderbird One and the experimental jet it was currently trying to catch up with. Not that he doubted any jet could out-fly or out-maneuver Scott's plane, which was good news for that test pilot when the controls jammed.

"I have him in sight, but I'm having trouble getting a lock."

"Just stay with him Thunderbird One," John advised his older brother. "You only have five minutes to get that jet to a higher altitude before you both become part of the Andes."

"FAB."

An alarm brought John's attention away from the rescue and back to his space station, where he found an error in the main communications hub. If it went down, the whole of Five would be out of commission! Letting Scott know he would be right back, John floated out to the gravity ring and raced down the corridor.

Reaching the faulty unit, John pulled up the holographic schematics. It appeared that there was a problem with one of the internal connections, most likely a loose wire. Should be an easy fix … if the access panel wasn't stuck. Luckily, the one next to it wasn't jammed and he could kind of see the loose connection. It wasn't far from the alternate opening; he should be able to reach it without trouble.

John stuck his arm into the console. It was a tight fit and didn't leave much room to maneuver – especially since his elbow was stuck up against something he couldn't even see to identify. No matter, all he had to do was plug in the cable and –

"YOW!"

Electrical current shot through his lower arm and John quickly yanked himself free. His arm hurt more than it ever had before and he was having trouble moving his thumb – must be the entry point for the shock.

Lesson learned: never reach into a machine that was _on_.

With no other choice, John shut off the console for the few seconds it would take to reconnect the wire with his good hand – an Olympic feat in itself. Once that was down, he turned it back on and found that half their network was trying to get hold of him …

 **^E^L^E^C^T^R^I^C^I^T^Y^**

Virgil waited – semi-patently – for Brains to reestablish connections with Thunderbird Five. He wasn't sure what happened up there, but some sort of error had shown up right before it went down. As long as John was okay, they could deal with it.

 _Please let John be okay._

"How much longer?" Gordon asked from his spot hovering over Brains' other shoulder.

"Not sure," the engineer responded. "It seems like the whole communications hub was just turned off – wait, it's on again."

As grateful as Virgil was to hear that, the hologram of his brother sent off a few alarm bells of his own. Pinched features indicate pain – a lot of pain. John was also very still – strange to see in a guy who was usually pretty animated.

Something was very wrong.

"Hi guys," John said calmly. "Sorry about the disconnect, but I had a loose wire."

Had it been audio only, Virgil might have believed him. As it was, he didn't buy his everything-is-fine act for a second.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I just told you. There was a loose connection in the console."

"Yeah, but what happened to _you_?"

There was a brief flash of something – probably either guilt or fear – before the serene persona was back, and the astronaut insisted nothing was wrong. So why wasn't he moving his arms?

"John," Virgil said firmly, "don't think that just because you are in orbit, I can't reach you. We _do_ have a rocket."

"But no one to fly it," he pointed out.

"Wanna bet?"

Now it was Virgil's turn to cut communication. Sure, Dad might be on the mainland and Scott was in South America, but there was one person that John had overlooked. He would have to break a rule or two, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"ALAN!"

Ignoring the look Gordon was giving him, he mentally prepared himself for what was coming. Alan was always eager to get a shot at Thunderbird Three, but that didn't mean that his copilots always had a great time of it. Here's hoping they could do this run without problems – or asteroids. But it seemed something in his shout made his pilot as nervous as he was. The teen entered the room somewhat hesitantly, looking from one brother to the other before settling on Virgil..

"Look, it wasn't _that_ big a deal and we _really_ thought that towel was Scott's–"

Gordon cleared his throat loudly and shook his head, shutting the kid up quick. While the half-confession was something that would have to be looked into, Virgil had bigger problems on his hand than what the two terrors did to his towel.

"I need you to take me up to Thunderbird Five."

Alan's eyes lit up with excitement, but quickly turned suspicious. He didn't have time for this!

"But, Virgil, you're not qualified as a copilot and I can't fly without–"

"Look, I'll take the heat for this," he interrupted. "I just need you to get me up there."

"He thinks John hurt himself," Gordon explained. "I didn't see anything wrong, but I don't have the powers of the mighty medic."

Mighty _what_? Virgil shook his head. That was another thing he would have to deal with later. Luckily, informing Alan that it was a rescue – of sorts – put the kid into a professional mode like they had never seen before. Minutes later they were blasting through the atmosphere with every piece of equipment Virgil could think to bring.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Alan asked as the station came into sight.

"No, but he was hurting," Virgil offered up a small smile. "Don't worry, I'm the 'mighty medic', remember?"

Alan laughed softly, but his smile faded when Gordon's hologram popped up to inform them that Scott was on his way back and wanted to know where everybody was.

"I told him that we were fine and you two were just taking a trip up to Five–"

"And I wanted to know why," Scott interrupted, appearing next to Gordon on the dashboard.

"It's a rescue," Alan answered.

"You're not cleared for rescues, and Virgil can't copilot Thunderbird Three."

"Extenuating circumstances," the medic explained. "I think John hurt himself during the communications blackout."

That sure got Scott's attention. Of course it didn't help anything that he didn't have any answers for him, but he should have some as soon as he could get aboard Thunderbird Five. Promising an update the minute he had one, Virgil floated to the cargo area to get his medical gear while Alan opened the airlock. As soon as the door opened, there was John.

"You didn't have to come out here," he grumbled. "Do you know how dangerous that was? Neither of you are qualified to–"

"Can you rate your pain from one to ten?" Virgil asked, shining a light into the astronaut's eyes.

"Who said I'm in pain?" John shot back, batting his hand away.

"Is it localized to your arm, or in multiple locations?"

"Nothing is wrong with my arm!"

"Seriously!" Alan scoffed. "You're can't even move it! Even _I_ know that's a bad sign."

"I can too move it," John protested, rotating his shoulder to prove his point – which only proved Alan's.

This was very bad.

"Does this hurt?" Virgil asked, carefully moving each of John's fingers.

Even though he was not eager to cooperate, the involuntary hiss at a touch to his thumb let Virgil know that the hand was at least partially affected. Caught in his cover-up, John admitted to trying to work on a machine while it was still connected to the power. Normally, this would not be a big deal as Brains always kept safety as a top priority in his designs. However, when one tries to access something in the way that it wasn't meant to be accessed, accidents can happen.

"I'm sure it's okay," John insisted, as Virgil ran some scans of the damaged area. "It's probably like when you hit your thumb with a hammer: it hurts, it's sore, then it's fine."

"You're right," Virgil stated. "You'll be fine … in about six weeks."

"What?" the astronaut gaped. "It was just a little jolt!"

"That caused a little fracture. Alan, get us back down to Tracy Island so I can put a cast on this."

"FAB."

Maneuvering his stunned patient to a chair before taking the copilot's seat, Virgil thought ahead to what he would need. Despite their work, he did not treat broken bones that often – thank God – so he should have plenty of the necessary supplies. Of course, they might have to run communications from the island for a couple of days, at least until he could get a good idea about John's mobility.

"Hey Virgil?" Alan asked as they prepared to reenter the atmosphere. "How do you break your arm from an electric shock?"

"If it's strong enough, the muscle contractions can do it on there own, but I don't think Brains makes anything with that much electricity," he replied. "Most likely it was a reflective jerk that twisted the arm enough to cause the fracture."

"Wow … that's rough."

"No kidding," John muttered.

If they thought _that_ was rough, they clearly were not thinking very far ahead. According to the computer, both Scott and Dad were home at this point. He was going to have to explain to them the broken arm, as well as why he had a 15-year-old blasting into orbit without the proper supervision.

This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

So, do you think Virgil would get in much trouble for not waiting until Scott got home to fly him to Five?

I look forward to your comments and suggestions, however I do already have an idea for F (but I still need a brother to put in it).


	8. F is for Fish Hook

Hello everybody!

Sorry this is so late. I wanted to spend as much time as I could with my family before they left. (Then when they did I had a food allergy issue and spent 24 hours on benadryl ... no writing happens when one is not thinking straight.) Anyway, things are going back to normal around here, so I should have more time for writing. (YAY)

 **SIDE NOTE:** This chapter is the closest Virgil will get to being caught with an injury, as the whole story is basically the medic telling his brothers about times THEY hid things from HIM. If you want to see a chapter where he gets caught, check out nhsweetcherry's "You Can Run, But You Can't Hide" (... or stick around long enough for me to get the "The ABC's of John Tracy"). Now, as I was saying ...

This chapter is for Oblivion03 for giving me a challenge word that I just couldn't resist, with honorable mentions to coralie14 and Stormyskies for giving me other things that played into this chapter. (Can't say what without giving things away.)

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for being enough of an insomniac to go over this chapter at midnight. I couldn't do it without you. ;)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **F is for Fish Hook**

Virgil hurried into the infirmary, keeping his hand level so as not to leave a trail of blood on the floor. While it would serve Scott right to have a heart attack over finding it, especially after he dragged him out of bed at _6am_ to fix the coffee maker, he had lectured his brothers enough about being careful with tools – not to mention hiding injuries – that it would not do to be caught with a cut from a screwdriver. Not that he could hide an injury from himself, but the teasing that would result from the discovery would _not_ be worth it.

"What the–"

Almost forgetting about the blood pooling in his palm, Virgil took a quick stock of his ready supplies. His jar of cotton balls was tipped over, probably to get to the one that was now half-full of band-aids. Wrappers from at least three or four of the small bandages were scattered across the countertop, but even that was not as troubling as the last piece of evidence left behind.

A blood-stained fish hook.

Muttering under his breath, Virgil made quick work of his own injury so he could properly hunt down the band-aid thief. That was when he noticed another troubling piece to the puzzle: the antibiotic ointment was left – untouched – in the drawer. That meant that the genius was in such a hurry he may not have cleaned the cut; infection could be setting in at that very moment.

Hurrying upstairs, he headed straight for the pool. Even injured, his fish of a brother wouldn't be able to stay out of the water. Sure enough, Gordon was there doing his pre-swim stretches. When would that guy ever learn?

"Freeze!" he ordered, getting a stunned reaction.

"What?"

"You know you can't swim when you're hurt."

"Um … I'm not."

"You bet you're not! Get down to the infirmary."

For a moment, Gordon just stared at him, as if trying to gauge how serious he was. Virgil took the opportunity to do a visual check to figure out where he had stuck himself, but no band-aid were visible. Granted, he might have taken them off before jumping in the pool, but that was even more reason to check him out. A chlorinated pool was no place for a healing wound. Besides, the towel caped over his shoulders did cover a good portion of his body; he could have _six_ band-aids stuck to him covered by the terrycloth.

"Virgil …" he started slowly. "I'm fine. Not sure why you think I'm not, but I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that. Go."

"Virg-"

"Go, or you're grounded for refusing medical care."

With a dark glare, Gordon stormed inside and the medic followed. They reached the infirmary a moment later where the younger man tossed aside his towel and underwent an exam to reveal … nothing. He was in perfect health.

" _Now_ are you satisfied?" Gordon snapped, retrieving his towel.

"Sorry," Virgil sighed, picking up the hook, "but when I found this … well, since you're the only one who really goes fishing, I just assumed it was yours."

"It is mine," he replied with a frown, taking the small piece of metal. "When you figure out who took it, let me know. I would like to _thank_ them for this impromptu exam … and teach them how to clean fishing gear."

Virgil let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. Whoever took it had enough problems without Gordon adding salt to the wound – which he just might do, unless they had lemons on hand.

But _who_ was it?

 **^F^I^S^H^H^O^O^K^**

Alan sat on the edge of the toilet, trying to peel off the soaked bandage at the base of his thumb. Who knew such a tiny hook could cause so much damage. He probably should have gone to Virgil, but then it would have been reported up the chain of command and Gordon would find out he took his fishing gear – which would not be as bad as if he discovered that he also took out one of his speed boats, but was it Alan's fault that he owned the fastest ones?

"Ow ow ow," he murmured, hissing at the sight of his danged hand.

Maybe if he wore gloves for a few days no one would notice.

"For the last time!" Scott yelled from the hallway. "I'm NOT bleeding!"

Oh crap! Virgil must how found the fish hook! It won't take him long to narrow his suspect list – unless his older brothers were being their usual selves and refusing to submit to a physical. Alan was never more thankful for Tracy stubbornness than he was at that very moment. Unfortunately, Virgil was a Tracy too.

"I'll ground you if I have too," Dr. Power-Trip threatened. "No one is leaving this island until I know who cut themselves."

"It wasn't me," Scott insisted. "I swear."

"Riiiiiight; just like you swore that limp last month was from lack of sleep?"

As the argument continued the voices got closer, effectively cutting off Alan's only escape route. It was okay though, the bathroom door was locked and as long as he stayed quiet there was no reason for them to try the door anyway–

"Do I have your permission to use the bathroom first?"

OH CRAP!

"Fine, but I'll be waiting right here."

Alan quickly ducked into the shower, hoping that Scott wouldn't notice him. However, he just heard the doorknob rattle and the teen let out a sigh of relief. Locked door meant no one could catch him.

"Who's in there?" Virgil called, making Alan clamp his mouth shut.

It was more reflex than anything else: when bleeding, unless it was life threatening, never answer the medic's call. Unfortunately, in addition to being the family medical officer, his brother happened to be an _engineer_. A moment later the knob dropped to the floor and the door swung open. Alan was now facing his most two overbearing brothers with an exposed cut on his hand.

"Um … I can explain this."

"Oh, you'll get your chance," Virgil promised, pointing the way to the infirmary.

The teen sighed and made his way downstairs, flanked by two brothers that made sure he didn't take any detours – though Scott only went as far as the doorway before leaving him at the mercy of Dr. Control-Freak. At least Gordon wasn't part of this. As mad as the aquanaut would be about the fishing gear, he was going to kill him when he saw what happened to his boat. Speaking of which …

"Hey, Virgil?" Alan asked, watching his brother stitch up his hand. "Do medics take an oath to do no harm?"

"Why?"

"Well … I need you to help me fix Gordon's boat."

"One, what did you do to the boat? Two, what does that have to do with the Hippocratic oath?"

"Well, I may have dented it a little … _and_ caused a few scratches … but you can't tell Gordon or he'll cut me up for _bait_!"

Virgil gave him a smile as he tied off the last of the stitches, agreeing to help him fix the boat and not mention the damage to their seafaring brother. Alan sighed in relief … until the medic's grin widened.

"I still have to tell him about the fish hook though."

"But that's almost as bad as telling him about the boat! What happened to do no harm?"

"I'm a medic," he shrugged and putting away his supplies. "We don't take an oath."

* * *

So, you think they'll be able to keep that boat under wraps long enough to fix it?

Let me know your comments, suggestions, and challenge words while I figure out if I want to include Scott's limp "from lack of sleep" in a future chapter.


	9. G is for Glitter

**I'm still alive!**

Seriously, I'm sorry for the excessive wait time for this chapter. I was finishing a bachelor's degree, dove feet first into a master's degree, got married, then was dropped from my master's program ONE MONTH BEFORE COMPLETION and TWO DAYS before my husband got notice of his job ending. Needless to say, I was on a bit of an emotional roller-coaster that has now slowed to a crawl as my husband and I try to piece our lives back together. On the bright side, I now have A LOT of spare time for writing.

There is someone else to blame for my trouble with this chapter: Gordon Tracy. I'm serious, I have this thing planned out within weeks of finishing the last chapter, but every time I tried to put the words together, Gordon would start messing with the chapter and changing what he was going to do. Finally, I focused on Virgil and he got his brother in line. (Thus we have a finished chapter.)

I would like to do a big shout out to my beta, 1monster2, for going over this chapter, even with a giant essay looming over her head. (One thing I don't miss about school.)

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **G is for Glitter**

Virgil could only shake his head in amazement. His youngest brother prided himself on his creativity and ingenuity. While the medic tended to see this most in all the ways that Alan found to injure himself, even he had to admit that there were other outlets for his artistic expression. Whether or not that expression was in good taste, however …

"Hey," Alan called, pointing a glittery hand across the table, "can you hand me that bag of feathers?"

While the piece taking shape in front of him looked more like the contents of a kindergarten scrap bin than actual art, Virgil couldn't think of a reason not to help. Picking up the sack of pink fluff – which matched the glitter and pompoms already coating the abomination on the kitchen table – he handed it over to the kid.

"What … is … that?" Scott asked, slowly approaching the table.

"Not sure," Virgil admitted. "Alan calls it art. Maybe he is trying to start a new movement."

"What movement is that? Pink Horror?"

"Very funny," Alan muttered, creating a tuft of feathers to the top of his project. "It's Gordon's decoy present."

That made sense. Their resident Aquaman was a snoop on the best of days, but every February he became a regular Sherlock Holmes. Surprising him for his birthday usually required one of two things: decoys or divine intervention. Of course, there was the third option of buying the present on the day of his birthday, but that was just as risky as their schedule sometimes made it impossible to go on last minute shopping trips.

"Okay, I get your reasoning," Scott admitted. "Why are you making it look like an art and crafts project of a six-year-old girl?"

"It is Alan," Virgil pointed out, earning a shrug from his oldest brother and a glare from his youngest. "By the way, I think you need more sequins."

The kid considered it while Scott decided he had better things to do that watch their brother pick feathers off his fingers. Virgil would have left too, only he knew Alan's penchant for hurting himself and didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone with scissors. Granted, he wasn't four-years-old anymore, but any cut could be serious if that glitter got inside of it. Thankfully, he managed to finish his project without incident and packed it – with all the supplies – into a shoebox.

"Don't you think labeling the box with the words 'Gordon Keep Out' is a bit much?"

"I have to sell it," Alan argued. "Speaking of which, can you help me put it on the top shelf in the closet? It's the only place he can't reach."

Virgil considered mentioning that Gordon wasn't the only one who couldn't reach the top shelf, but decided against it. He grabbed the box and pushed it high out of the reach of his little brothers. Knowing their water-logged sibling, it wasn't going to stop him. Luckily, decoy presents were meant to be found.

"Um … do you have anything that gets glue off skin?" Alan asked, trying to scrape shiny bits of pink off his palm.

"Normally I would say soap and water, but you're likely to shred your hands the way you wash. Come on."

He led the way down to the infirmary where he kept all the good stuff. In minutes, Alan was glitter and feather free. Once clean, the kid took off – which was no surprise as none of his brothers enjoyed hanging out in the infirmary – and Virgil went back upstairs. He was just sitting down at his piano when he heard a crash …

 **^G^L^I^T^T^E^R^**

Gordon hurried to the bathroom, trying his best not to drip blood on the floor. A single drop and Dr. Control- Freak would be on him in seconds. Stupid weak shelf! If they hadn't put that box on the top of Mt. Olympus, this never would have happened. Gravity sucked.

"Ow ow ow," he muttered, locking the bathroom door behind him.

The metal support – which kinda failed at its job – had done a good job of slicing open his arm. That would have been bad enough without the shower of pink that spilled out of that shoebox. He should have known it was a decoy gift. Who would tell him to keep out and expect him to _actually_ listen? Better question, who would make him a birthday present with _glitter_ and _pink feathers_?

"Hey, Gordon?"

The sound of Virgil's voice makes his freeze and his mind raced to find an out. The bathroom had no windows or vents big enough for him to squeeze through, so that was a bust. He could try hiding in the shower, but it would do no good if Dr. Bloodhound was on his heels. Then again, his tone was far more conversational than confrontational. Maybe he didn't know anything was wrong. Best to just keep calm and bluff his way out of this.

"Yeah?" he called back, keeping his voice as light as possible.

"You going to be long, I wanna take a shower."

Good, it was just a shower. No medical witch hunt, just proper hygiene. Unfortunately, the amount of time it would take to patch up his arm and clean up would make big brother suspicious – that, and the three-inch cut on his arm. Good thing they had a big house.

"Can you use the other shower?"

"No, Scott beat me to it … What are you doing in there anyway?"

Gordon's heart started to race. He had to think up a good excuse, but the stinging in his arm was somewhat distracting. Some of the glitter must have found its way into the cut. Now, he may not always be the best student when it came to school, but first aid training was a sort of do-or-die thing around here and he was well aware of what problems can arise from foreign objects in a wound. There had to be tweezers around here somewhere … there!

"Hey, Gordon? You still alive in there?"

He _wouldn't_ be if Virgil caught him like this. Working fast, he ran the tweezers under the faucet, praying that made them clean enough. Ever so carefully, he reached for the most visible piece of pink in the cut –

"Freeze!"

The voice was so close that Gordon jumped. He would have stabbed himself with the tweezers, if a strong hand had not accompanied the voice. He should have known that a basic lock couldn't stop an engineer! One look at his big brother's face made it abundantly clear how much trouble he was in and he decided not to fight the forced march down to the infirmary. On the bright side, Virgil slipped into rescue mode and cleaned the injury with all the care and gentleness that his position required … Gordon would give it five minutes before he was grounded for blood poisoning.

"It's not deep," Virgil announced, wrapping a bandage around the damaged area. "You'll live."

"Thanks, Doc," Gordon replied, relived that he was getting off so easy. "We good now?"

"Sure," he replied with a suspiciously sweet smile. "I just have to fill out my log before I turn it into Dad."

Uh-oh. Gordon double checked the cut and tried to see if there was any way their Dad would ground him for this. His wetsuit would sufficiently protect the injury … it was not his dominant arm … it was his stupid brother's fault … no, he was clear. Still, there was that smile and it always meant something was up. Unable to resist his curiosity, Gordon stood on his tiptoes to read over Virgil's shoulder.

CAUSE OF INJURY: _Severe case of idiocy causing patient to climb on a plywood shelf._

TREATMENT: _Clean gauze and antibiotic ointment. No cure for idiocy._

Well played, Virgil. Well played.

* * *

So, was it worth the wait?

Let me know what you think and I will get started on H just as soon as I get some challenge words.


	10. H is for Holly

**SURPRISE!**

I bet you weren't expecting an update this soon were you?

This chapter is dedicated to coralie14 and CyanB who gave me the challenge words "glitter" and "gravity," as well as Oblivion03 for the challenge word for this chapter.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for once again taking a break from her studies to help me out.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **H is for Holly**

Virgil dropped a cardboard box with the ones his brothers had retrieved before joining Scott on the couch with a sigh. The most wonderful time of the years seemed to always begin with a great amount of physical labor. From hauling in a giant tree to pulling all the decorations out of storage, preparation was almost as much work as the decorating itself.

"Should we start with the tree or the garland?" Gordon asked, sprawled out on the other couch.

"Let's just give it a minute," Scott suggested, massaging his forearm.

The sight of it made Virgil far more alert and he sat up with a frown. Some of those boxes were pretty heavy and it would be easy to strain a muscle or tendon. On that note, a full-blown sprain was not out of the question.

"Watch out, Scott," Gordon warned. "You're giving Dr. Bloodhound a scent."

Immediately, their eldest brother dropped his hands into his lap and schooled his features to appear calm, almost innocent. Virgil took a minute to shoot a glare at the aquanaut before turning to Scott. It might be nothing, but an arm injury could be very dangerous in their line of work.

"Let me see," he instructed.

"See what?"

Knowing verbal arguments never went anywhere, Virgil took the initiative – and Scott's arm – to check for himself. Ignoring the protests from one brother and the annoying commentary from the other, he checked for the usual signs of bruising or tenderness. Thankfully, there was none, and the worst Scott had was a strained muscle.

"If I were you, I'd lay off decorating for a few days," he advised. "It wouldn't hurt to put some ice on it while you're at it."

"So, he rubs his arm and gets out of decoration duty?" Gordon asked. "Ow, my knee!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and headed for the first of the boxes. Inside he found long ropes of holly and red velvet bows. Fate has dictated that they would start decorating with the garland. However, just as he pulled out the first of the ropes, fate intervened once again in the form of John.

" _International Rescue, we have a situation_."

Within minutes, the three brothers were on their way to help a group of scientists whose lab was about to slip into the ocean. While none of them were particularly upset about missing out on decorating, Virgil was a little concerned about leaving the task to Alan and Kayo. They had a big house and decorating it for the holidays involved a lot of heavy lifting. If his eldest brother could hurt himself just bringing a box out of storage –

"They'll be fine," Scott assured him. "The hard part is over anyway."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed from the seat beside him. "Kayo is a ninja and Alan is … well, the important thing is that Kayo is a ninja."

Virgil allowed himself to relax so he could concentrate on the rescue. His brothers were right, Kayo would make sure Alan didn't do anything too stupid before they got back. Besides, they are just hanging garland. What could happen?

 **^H^O^L^L^Y^**

"I am SO sorry."

Kayo held up her non-throbbing hand to silence her youngest surrogate brother. Alan meant well, but she had no time for apologies. What she needed now was an ice pack and a good cover story for when people started asking why her wrist was purple. As long as the swelling didn't get too bad, she could likely pass it off as a bruise. Then again – when it came to a certain medic in their family – a bruise was more than enough reason for a series of tests and bedrest.

"Do you think we should call-"

"Alan," she said between clenched teeth, "if you are going to suggest calling Virgil, I would advise against it."

"But he's the one who can treat that."

"And I'm the one who can give him something else to treat."

The teen wisely heeded the not-so-veiled threat and decided to refocus his energy on helping her cover up the incident. He righted the lander and shoved the garland out of the way. Then he ran down to the infirmary to get an ice pack while Kayo did her own examination of her wrist. She wasn't worried about being caught – not yet anyway – as the boys were busy with a rescue and everyone else was running errands on the mainland. Even Alan's subpar stealth abilities would not be a hindrance – however, she would have to educate him on the proper way to detangle garland from a ladder without tipping it.

"Here," Alan said, offering an icepack and elastic bandage.

"I won't be needing that," Kayo said, taking the ice and applying it to her wrist.

"You sure? Because Virgil always uses this thing."

"Exactly, and what do you suppose he will think when he comes back and finds me wearing it?"

Alan paused as understanding dawned across his features. They loved Virgil, all of them did, but when it came to injuries he could be a little overbearing. The last time Kayo fell off a ladder, he treated her for a concussion and prescribed three days of bedrest. The injury hardly qualified for one night of rest, but there was no telling that to their island's medicine man. No, it was best Virgil never found out about this little escapade.

"So … what are we going to do about the garland?" Alan asked after a minute. "I mean, if it's not up by the time they get back-"

"They'll know something happened," Kayo finished.

Pushing past the pain, she helped the teen finish what they had started. It was slow going and there were times when she had to stop for a minute, but they got it done just before the return of Thunderbird One. Knowing she didn't have much time, Kayo hurried to her room and applied make up to the bruise. It wasn't perfect, but it should pass inspection. Minutes after she finished, Thunderbird Two arrived.

"The place looks good," Virgil commented, taking a seat on the couch. "I see you left the tree for the rest of us."

"Well, we couldn't take all the fun," she shrugged, careful not to jostle her arm.

Luck was on her side and the boys were paying more attention to the décor than anything else. Kayo took the opportunity to give Alan a look, reminding him not to say anything to tip them off. Virgil may be the only medic, but the members of International Rescue were not known for taking injuries lightly. If even Gordon got an idea of what happened, the might of their organization would come down on her like an overly helpful tidal wave.

"Hey, what are the candles doing on the floor?" Scott asked, pointing to the decarded decorations.

"Oh," Alan muttered. "They must have fallen off the table when the ladder tipped."

Kayo resisted the urge to close her eyes and bring more attention to the slip up. This allowed her to see the implications of the kid's words register with the brothers, one by one. The worst part was that this happened right after a rescue when the boys were still halfway in their job mode. For his part, Alan tried to cover his tracks.

"I mean it tipped, but didn't really fall … I mean nothing fell, except the candles. … I mean …"

"I think I get it," Virgil said, getting to his feet. "Where are you hurt?"

"Me?" Alan scoffed. "I'm not hurt! Do I look hurt?"

"I wasn't talking to you."

Kayo shot the teen another look before schooling her features. There was still a chance she could bluff her way out of this. It was a good thing she had a high pain tolerance. Dutifully, she approached the medic looking as calm and bored as possible.

"Nothing happened," she insisted.

"Right," Virgil murmured. "Can you hold your arms out to your sides?"

She did as she was told, managing it without moving her wrist. So far so good. She lifted each leg, twisted her foot, and put it back down. The problem came when she was asked to bend her arm and rotate her wrist. The right arm was not a problem. The left …

"Stop," Virgil snapped the second she attempted to move her hand.

He hurried forward, gently probing the injured area before ushering her down to the infirmary. After cleaning off the make-up and taking a few scans, Virgil handed her an ice pack to apply to the bruise while he raided the supply closet.

"I think you are overreacting. It's just a sprain."

"I would be overreacting, if it was just a sprain," Virgil replied, removing a splint from the closet. "Fractures are a little more serious. Don't worry, no bedrest needed this time."

That wasn't much comfort when she realized that the splint was going to be replaced by plaster as soon as the swelling went down. Kayo hoped that Virgil was stocked up. If this cast got in the way of doing her work, Alan would need all the medical supplies they had at hand.

* * *

So, has my writing held up during my absence?

Let me know what you think, any challenge words for I, and whether Scott or John should be the next victim.


	11. I is for Ice Machine

**Happy (belated) New Year**

Sorry about the wait, but you remember how I said we were piecing our lives back together? While, My husband was liking in Oklahoma and I was living in Oregon when everything happened. (I had stayed on the West Coast after the wedding in order to finish school.) So, after Thanksgiving, I was busy saying goodbye to Oregon and moved to Oklahoma on December 12th. THEN my husband got a job a hundred miles away from where we had been living and I moved AGAIN on December 30th.

On top of all that, I had a lot of trouble developing a plot for this one. As you al know, I go with the words you give me, but most of you said "Ice" or "Ice Skates." Since "I is for Ice" is part of _The ABC's of Alan Tracy_ , I didn't want to duplicate the chapter here. So, I carefully thought through the other suggestions until a cold spell in my new hometown (it was 7 degrees when I woke up this morning) prompted me to pick this word and write what you are about to read.

This chapter is for TigreMalabarista for the challenge word.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, who once again set aside her homework to help me get this posted.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **I is for Ice Machine**

Virgil sighed as he returned the last first aid kit to its place on Thunderbird Three. Now every kit was full and ready for the next call out. Well, most of them. He hadn't checked the kit on Thunderbird Five in a while, but John would tell him if it got low … probably. He was a lot better about reporting injuries than most of them, but Virgil suspected that he may be treating himself more often than not. Which means that he would have to take a trip to space in the very near future.

"Hey, Scott?" Virgil called, entering the lounge.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you could bring me up to Thunderbird Five."

"I can!" Alan cried happily.

While the reports on his progress as a pilot were good, the idea made the medic pause. It hadn't been that long ago that Virgil had to treat both of their resident astronauts for injuries received after getting too close to an asteroid. So, he answered his youngest brother the only way he could.

"What do you say, Scott?"

"Hey!"

"I'd love to, but I think Brains needs me for propulsion tests on Thunderbird One."

"I said I could do it."

"Dad might be able to take you."

"Scott!"

"I think he's in England until tomorrow."

" _I'm_ not in England."

"Well, I wish I could take you."

"Yup, that just leaves me."

"Thanks anyway. Hey, has Gordon had any training on Thunderbird Three?"

"I'm gonna kill you both."

It took a lot to keep a straight face, but somehow Virgil managed it. Scott didn't even appear to try hard, but then he had a few more years of practice. Alan, however, had mastered the Tracy Death Glare some time ago and his only problem seemed to be which of his brothers he planned to fry with it first. Not wanting to deal with the fallout that was coming – and needing to get back on his mission - Virgil made the decision for him and slipped out of the room. Maybe Brains would have a solution for getting up to Thunderbird Five.

"How are the tests coming?" he called over the hum of machines, as he stepped into the lab.

It took a minute for Max to get Brain's attention, another for Virgil to repeat his question, another for Brains to shut down the engine he was working on – so he could hear – and the medic got his answer on the third attempt at asking the question. Five minutes wasn't a record, but it was better than average.

"With these improvements, Thunderbird One will be able to accelerate three to five percent faster," Brains said excitedly. "Of course, too fast and we risk structural damage."

"Maybe you should run a few more tests before you give it to Scott," Virgil suggested.

The safety tip was only partially given as an engineer, but also as a medic. He didn't even want to think about how a haul breach would affect his brother at Mach 2. Any kind of malfunction at the speeds they traveled could result in International Rescue needing to save their own.

"I'll keep that in mind," Brains promised, "but I have a feeling that you did not come in here just to ask about Thunderbird One."

"No, I actually came about Thunderbird Five. John's due for a first aid refill, but I don't have a pilot for Thunderbird Three."

"I thought I saw Alan upstairs," the scientist offered.

"Brains … _asteroid_."

"I see your point. Have you tried asking John to send down the space elevator?"

Not a bad idea. Virgil thanked his friend and headed back upstairs to prepare the kit, pulling out his personal communicator along the way. It would be nice to see John in person again. He just hoped that he had enough supplies left over to replace anything his brother had used since his last medical supply run.

 **^I^C^E^M^A^C^H^I^N^E^**

John looked over his maintenance logs with a growing sense of exhaustion. While it was nice having a place all to himself – especially after growing up with four loud and intrusive brothers – sometimes running a station single-handed was annoying. So far, he had repaired or replaced three power cells, and it was not even lunch yet! Of course, he was only able to get that much completed because they hadn't had a call out in the last … six hours. Granted, at the current rate of emergencies, he would have a fully functioning Thunderbird for his 42nd birthday.

"Virgil to John."

"Go ahead," he responded, thankful for the break.

"It's that time of the month again," his brother said with a smile.

"Um … what time?"

"Medical restock."

John rolled his eyes. Only Virgil ever got happy at the prospect of counting bandages and slings. Then again, he had always suspected these monthly checks were a ploy to see which of their pilots was sneaking the most supplies. No matter, he was a little low the last time he checked, and maybe he could even talk Virgil into sticking around for an hour or two to help with repairs. All the critical ones were finished, so all that was left was standard maintenance.

"When are you coming up?" John asked after a moment.

"As soon as I pack the kit. What all do you need?"

John thought back to the nearly empty box in the control room. He knew he needed burn cream, antiseptic, gauze pads, gauze strips, small bandages, large bandages, pain killers, cough medicine, cold medicine, sterile gloves …

"Just bring whatever and we'll see what's empty."

"Fair enough," Virgil conceded. "I'll need you to send the elevator down for me."

"Sure thing. Call when you're ready."

Virgil promised he would and signed off. John went back to his list to see what he could repair while he was waiting. The ice machine shouldn't take that long. He made his way down the gravitation ring until he came to his kitchen. The machine in question was sitting in the corner and John ran a quick diagnostic to see what was the problem. Simple fix, one of the parts had slipped out of its spot and was jamming everything else up. No problem. He just stuck his hand into the machine and popped the part back into place. Easy as –

"Uh-oh."

John tugged against whatever had snagged his glove, but only succeeded in poking the back of his hand. That loose part must have done more damage than he realized; something had broken and created a sharp edge. If he was very, very careful, he might be able to gently pull himself free –

"International Rescue! You need to help us!"

Darn it! While John was able to answer the frantic voice, all his equipment to track their location and see what his brothers would be us against was back at his workstation. Promising that help was on the way, he gave his hand a mighty tug and ripped his glove free … along with the back of his hand. Good thing the first aid kit was kept in the control room.

"International Rescue, we have a situation," he reported, using audio only as he floated straight for the globe in the center of the room. "A group of geologists have been trapped by a landslide. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

It was hard working one-handed, but it was difficult to manipulate his fingers without a lot of pain – something that was sure to register in his voice. Once they launched, however, he was free to tend to his own mini-emergency. However, it proved to be much greater than he originally imagined. Only a two thin gauze pads and a small amount of tape remained in his kit.

Making the best of things, John removed his ruined glove and used one pad to mop up the blood seeping from the cut. After cleaning it as best he could, he taped the second gauze in place and carefully slipped his hand into the glove from his back-up uniform. Problem solved.

"Hey, John," Virgil's hologram appeared from the helm of Thunderbird Two, "I guess we'll need a rain check on restock day."

"Yeah, I guess," John replied, trying to keep his voice even. "Not a big deal, I have plenty of supplies up here."

Virgil narrowed his eyes and John was beginning to regret allowing for the visual communication. If Virgil came up at any time in the next 36 hours, he would know that John had hurt himself. He couldn't afford to give any hint that something was wrong, but it appeared he already had. No, if he kept his cool, there was nothing for Virgil to see. The blue tint of the hologram would hide any sign of a pale complexion from the blood loss – one would hope – and the damaged glove was far out of sight. What could possibly tip him off that anything had happened?

"John," the medic said after a minute, "how many rescues have I been on?"

"Not sure of the exact number," John replied, puzzled by the question.

"Do you know how many times Scott or Gordon has hurt themselves on the job?"

"Again, not the exact number … what's your point?"

"I know what blood looks like on our uniforms."

 _Crap._

John looked down at his hand and the red stain slowly spreading across the material. He caught him again! Once those geologists were safe, he was going to have to bring up Virgil – and maybe even Scott – to explain what happened. The only question was, which would be worse: the treatment of his hand or the lecture for his stupidity. In the end, Virgil handled the treatment and Scott handled the lecture. Half an hour of his older brother scolding him while his little brother gave him ten stitches.

It was a tie.

* * *

So, what do you think? (Did anyone see Scott changing his mind about flying Thunderbird Three?)

I look forward to your feedback and will get started on chapter J as soon as I get an inspiring word.

 _P.S. For those of you interested in the other fandoms I write for, I have a future A-Team fic prepared as well as one-shots for the animated Ghostbusters tv series and the old show The Waltons. However, I have not had the best luck in posting new material of late. It seems that anything I put out outside of one of my established fandoms gets very few hits and even less responses. (I'm talking 4-6 people even looking at it over the first few days.) Please let me know if this is something you think people would like/read as I have many more ideas (and multiple stories in progress) for Monk, Ghostbusters, A-Team, Star Trek, Wild Wild West, Bonanza, Jurassic Park ... I have a lot of ideas._


	12. J is for Jelly

**Hello again!**

You know who is a much more troublesome brother than Gordon? Scott.

I swear, I planned this thing out a month ago, but he refused to cooperate with the plot. (I think he was convinced that he wouldn't get hurt this way.) Anyway, I finally got it finished and I hope you like how it turned out.

I was watching the movie "Boxtrolls" while reading the reviews and just HAD to take the word suggested by Stormyskies89 and Clara Who 123. (If you've seen the movie, you would know why ... JELLY! HA HA HA!) This chapter is for them and my dear friend, AngelicJedi98, for her help with the technical stuff.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for scheduling in a time to go over this with me.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **J is for Jelly**

Virgil soared over the jelly factory, getting a good look at the damage. Boiler explosions were no joke and he just wished the call out had come sooner. As it was, half the employees were trapped in the unstable structure.

" _Seven people are by the south wall,"_ John reported.

" _No exits in that area of the building,"_ Scott chimed in. _"Virgil, you'll have to cut yourself a door."_

"FAB," he replied, landing on the south side of the factory.

" _Three more people are near the vats,"_ John continued.

Virgil paused, looking at a holographic layout of the structure. The vats of jelly were very close to where the initial explosion happened, which meant that the damage to that section was a lot more severe. However, that south wall wasn't going to last long either …

" _I'll get them,"_ Scott promised.

" _Just be careful,"_ their space monitor advised. _"If those fires get any closer, it could cause the rest of the pipes to go."_

" _You just keep an eye on the heat levels, Virgil and I will take care of the rest."_

He sounded confident, like always, but that didn't make the medic feel any better. The man didn't have more than a helmet for protection and grapple launchers for a quick extraction. Would that be enough? If those pipes burst …

Virgil shook the thoughts from his head. He didn't have time to worry about his brother, not when seven factory workers were counting on him. Suiting up, he hurried over to the south wall. Problem was, he couldn't see where the people were. If he put his door in the wrong spot, he could cause more harm than good.

"Talk to me, John. Where am I cutting?"

" _Take a couple steps to the right."_

Following his brother's directions, Virgil quickly freed the trapped workers. In minutes, they were on their way to safety. So far so –

His thoughts were cut off when an explosion ripped through the heart of the factory.

 **^J^E^L^L^Y^**

Scott shook his head, trying to get his bearings. He had just reached the vats when one of the pipes blew, showing him with shards of metal. At least one had hit him – based on the sting in his shoulder – but he couldn't let it stop him.

" _Can you hear me?"_ a voice called over the ringing in his ears. _"Scott, come in!"_

"I'm here, John," he assured him. "How far are those workers?"

" _Just past the cooling vats. You sure you're okay?"_

Knowing Virgil was probably listening, Scott knew better that to give an honest report. There was definitely a sharp pain in his shoulder, but a quick check showed minimal blood. It must have just been a graze. No big deal.

"I'm fine. We'll be out in a few minutes."

" _All right,"_ John replied, switching back to his normal rescue tone. _"Just watch yourself; that last blast may have weakened the structure even further."_

No sooner had he finished the report that a vat of warm jelly slipped from its base, sending a wave of sticky slime all over Scott. Fantastic. He wiped a gloved hand across his helmet, trying to see more than red.

" _What was that?"_

"Nothing; just a spill. How far to those workers?"

" _They should be right in front of you."_

Though it wasn't easy, Scott managed to locate them trapped under some debris. Luckily, none of the pieces were that heavy and he managed to lift them without much difficulty. Granted, his shoulder felt like he was being stabbed with a steak knife or three, but it was a small price to pay for saving lives. Just as he pulled the last of the three loose, Virgil showed up and helped him carry the workers to safety. Another job well done.

"See you back at the ranch," he called to his brother, waving with his good arm. "I need a shower."

"You can clean up in Thunderbird Two," Virgil shot back. "I gotta find out where that blood is coming from."

Scott froze. He had hoped that the sticky mess coating his uniform had hid all traces of his run in with flying metal. Maybe it still could …

"What blood?" he asked, as casually as he could manage. "This is jelly."

"You can't be serious," Virgil shook his head. "I'm a _medic_. I know what blood looks like. _That_ is jelly and _that_ is blood."

Honestly, Scott couldn't see a lot of difference – except maybe a little with the color. Still, he had already checked his injury and it was just a scratch. It probably just bled a little more when he was lifting the debris. No problem.

"I'm fine," he assured him. "If you're that worried, you can give me a full check-up after my shower. Now, can we go home?"

"I'm serious, Scott. You aren't going anywhere until I know where that blood is coming from."

This was getting ridiculous. He was too tired to fight and just wanted to sit down in his cockpit. However, to reach his cockpit he – literally – had to get past Virgil. Why did Dr. Control-Freak have to come out now? Maybe logic would work.

"You have much better facilities back home."

"I'm not sure you can make it that far."

"I said I'm fine," he insisted, trying to remain calm, "and the sooner we leave, the sooner I can prove it."

Virgil just gave him a serious look and shook his head. It was tempting to try and shove past him so he could leave, but he was still wearing the power suit and Scott knew he wouldn't get far. They were at a stalemate, or so it seemed.

"I'm sorry about this," the medic murmured, raising his communicator. "Virgil to Tracy Island."

" _Tracy Island here,"_ Jeff's voice answered. _"What's the hold up?"_

"I'm issuing a medical code 47A-1."

Scott wracked his brain, trying to remember what code that was. Unfortunately, the fatigue he was feeling made his thoughts muddled. He could only watch and wait as their father asked for confirmation.

" _That's very serious, Virgil. Are you sure you want to do that?"_

"Very."

" _Okay … Initiating medical code 47A-1."_

A second later, Thunderbird One took to the sky and sped out of sight. At first, Scott could just stare dumbly at the dot disappearing in the distance, but then the rage kicked in.

"What was _that_?!"

"Medical code 47A-1," Virgil repeated. "Emergency override of Thunderbird One."

He did it. He _actually_ did it! All those times he threatened to ground them, Scott had no idea that he actually had the approved protocols to do it! Too angry to speak, he took a step toward his brother. Power-suit or not, Dr. Control Freak was going down …

The next thing Scott knew, he was waking up in the infirmary back on the island with his family all around him. How did that happen? He tried to get up, but the pain in his shoulder was worse than ever. At least the jelly was gone.

"How are you feeling, son?" Jeff asked, resting a hand on his arm.

"Confused … What happened?"

"You passed out at the factory," John answered. "You lost a lot of blood back there."

"How?"

"This," Virgil answered, lifting a metal shard with a long pair of tweezers. "I pulled it out of your shoulder. Contrary to popular belief, I really do know the difference between blood and jelly."

While that gave him an idea of what happened, Gordon and Alan filled in the details. It seemed the shard had initially embedded itself in such a way to seal the wound, causing minimal bleeding. It was only after he lifted the debris that most of the damage was done.

"If Virgil hadn't issued a medical code 47A, we might have lost you," Jeff concluded gravely.

"Yeah, I guess," Scott admitted. "Wait, I thought that was a code 47A-1."

"The dash 1 is for Thunderbird One," Virgil explained with a smile. "Don't worry, it's only in effect until you're back on your feet."

"Hold on," Gordon cut in. "Are you saying that there is a code 47A-4?"

"You really don't read those safety manuals I give out, do you?"

While his younger brothers launched into a protest, Scott just lay back in the bed. He was exhausted and – for once – was glad for Dr. Bloodhound's nose for injuries. Today could have gone a lot different, but they all made it back safe and sound … and smelling slightly of strawberries.

* * *

So, what do you think?

Were any of you surprised that Virgil can (and will) ground someone on the spot?

Let me know what you think while I get back to work on chapter K.


	13. Bonus Chapter 2

**This is NOT chapter K!**

As you may remember from The ABC's of Alan Tracy, one of the bonus chapters was used to demonstrate the first time Alan could have used body armor. While it was not the best received of the chapters, I decided to give it another go. This chapter shows the very first time someone tried to hide an injury from Dr. Bloodhound.

This chapter is dedicated to CreativeGirl29 and taylorj2000 for the inspirational challenge word and my little sister, Courtney, for her input in the first section.

Once again, a big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for making the time to go over this with me, twice.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Bonus Chapter 2: K is for Kettle**

Virgil rubbed his eyes in an attempt to focus. His family was counting on him to pass his EMT training, but he doubted that any of them realized how much work was involved. The terminology alone was taking forever to get through. At least most of it carried over from his anatomy studies.

"Let's see," he muttered to himself, going back to his book. "Gallbladder, know that … Gallstone, know that … Gasket, _really_ know that."

It was nice that his original training as an engineer also carried over into EMT studies. It may just be what makes the seal between an oxygen regulator and oxygen tank, but it was one less thing he had to learn. Granted, Gordon probably knew what a gasket was thanks to his scuba experiences.

"How's it going, son?"

Virgil looked up to give his father a tired smile. His test was in two days, so he really didn't have time to give him more than that. Luckily, Jeff Tracy was a veteran when it came to pressure and deadlines. He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and promised to return with food. Bless him.

"Okay, where was I … Gastric ulcer; a sore in the stomach lining that develops as a result of increased stomach acid. Common causes are chronic alcoholism, stress, ingesting too many acidic foods or Grandma's cooking."

Okay, so that last one wasn't _exactly_ in the textbook, but it should be. Then again, if the writers of his medical journals ever tried his grandmother's tuna casserole, they would probably declare the dish a health hazard – if not the cook.

"Gastroenteritis, a very big word for stomach flu … gastrointestinal tract, also known as the digestive system."

Speaking of which, he was getting hungry. Hopefully his dad wouldn't be long in the kitchen. Virgil could really use a snack about now. However, he couldn't let it distract him. If he didn't pass his EMT training, who would take care of his family if they got hurt?

 **^K^E^T^T^L^E^**

Jeff spread mayonnaise across a slice of toast before adding layers of lettuce and tomato. Every time he was preparing for a test, from third grade through his pilot's license, his dad had made him a club sandwich and a cup of tea. It was nice to be able to pass on the tradition to his own sons. The trick was in the timing; you had to start brewing your tea at just the right moment so that the tea bag was removed from the cup just after the toothpick was put into the sandwich. Unfortunately, he forgot to start brewing the tea.

Grabbing a mug, Jeff quickly picked up the bubbling kettle. Tipping the spout into the mouth of the cup, he took his eyes off it for a second to see where he left the tea. There it was, next to the toast-

"Gah!"

Barely stopping himself from dropping the mug, he quickly returned the kettle and cup to the table. Once that was done, he could take a few seconds to shake the boiling water off his hand. Rookie mistake, but no real harm done.

"Dad?" Virgil called from the other room. "You okay?"

"Fine," Jeff replied, covering his hand in a towel. "Be done in a minute."

Now, his middle son may not have the same reputation as his eldest when it come to an overbearingly protective nature, but he _was_ the one studying to become the family medic for a reason. It only took about ten seconds after the accident for Virgil to be in the doorway checking for himself.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Just fine," Jeff repeated, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Now go finish your studying. I'll be done in a minute."

Apparently, it wasn't reassuring enough because Virgil circled the table to stand right next to him. He looked at the sandwich, the kettle, the mug, the towel, and back to the kettle. The wheels in his head were almost visible turning and Jeff quickly tried to come up with something – anything – to derail that train of thought. After all, he had been the one to teach the boys about kitchen safety and it was just embarrassing to get caught hurting himself, however minor it might be. In the end, there was really only one way to get Virgil out of the kitchen.

"Son, you have to go finish your studies. You won't get your certification if you are not prepared for that test."

"Very true," he muttered, rotating the mug so it was farther from the edge of the table. "We really need a medic for Operation Thunderbird. Scott and Gordon can be pretty reckless at times."

"I think that's something we can both agree on," Jeff said with a slight smirk.

"But with my training, I can order them to ease up, right?" Virgil continued, looking him in the eye. "I mean, if they get hurt, I'll have the authority to make them slow down long enough for me to treat them, won't I?"

"Of course, you wouldn't be an effective medic if you couldn't."

"I thought so," Virgil smiled, visibly relieved. "You know what I love about you, Dad?"

"What's that?"

"Your willingness to lead by example. Now, will you let me see that burn? Remember, I won't be an effective medic if you say no."

Caught in his own words, Jeff reluctantly moved the towel. His skin was an angry red, but not blistered. Virgil treated the injury with cold water and advised rest while he finished making lunch. Not having much choice in the matter, the father reluctantly moved to the living room. On the table, his son had left his textbook open and one word jumped out to him.

"Hereditary, genetically transmitted from parent to offspring."

He had no one to blame but himself.

* * *

Well, how do you like Jeff's response to the early version of Dr. Control-Freak?

I have the real chapter K partially completed, and will continue to work on it while I await your feedback.


	14. K is for Kayak

**Greetings!**

I actually had a good chunk of this completed when I posted J is for Jelly, but I put it aside to work on the bonus chapter. Anyway, this is a sort of throwback to The ABC's of Alan Tracy and I hope you like it.

This chapter is dedicated to Dicetylene2 for the challenge word and Stormyskies89 for the inspiration.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for taking the time to go over this on her weekend.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **K is for Kayak**

Alan paddled through the calm water, watching the sky change as the last rays of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Of course, they still had plenty of light to see, but it was sign they would have to head in soon. On second thought, what was the big hurry?

"Hey, Gordon, isn't there supposed to be a full moon tonight?"

"I see where you are going with this … and no."

"No there isn't?"

"No, we're not staying out," he clarified, using his big-brother tone. "Kayaking at night takes gear that we didn't bring with us. We better paddle in."

Great; and he was supposed to be the fun one! Alan could read between the lines, though. He didn't think he had enough experience for kayaking at night. Only the mighty Fish-Boy had the ability to stick an oar in the water after dark. On top of that, Alan was out with a guy who specialized in water rescues; he wasn't exactly unsafe.

"Can't we stay out a little longer?"

"Sorry, but you know Dad's rules."

Oh, so _now_ he was quoting the rules. As if _he_ hadn't been out just the night before in the cove. Alan could see the lights of Gordon's boat from his bedroom window. He was such a hypocrite!

"Admit it," the younger teen challenged. "You don't want me out here because you think I'll get hurt or something."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up," Gordon admitted, not even trying to hide his smile.

Suddenly, Alan had the great desire to hit his brother with his paddle. When were they going to stop believing he was some kind of jinx? It wasn't as if he got hurt _everywhere_ he went.

"I can handle a kayak anytime, day or night!"

"Yeah? Like you can handle a sailboat?"

"Hey, _I_ wasn't the one who got the concussion!"

" _You_ were the one that _caused_ the concussion!"

This was getting nowhere. If he wanted to prove to Gordon how well he could handle a kayak, he would just have to show him. Tipping his boat, Alan slipped into the water and swam up behind his brother. In seconds, Gordon was in the water and Alan had replaced him in his kayak.

"Who has skill now?"

The gloating lasted only until his captured boat tipped. Thus, the wrestling match was on. Now, Gordon may be their resident Fish-Boy, but Alan was no slouch. Homefield advantage or not, he managed to hold his own as the pair moved closer to the shore. Dodging a grab from his brother, he dove down quickly – and felt a burning sensation ripping through his knee.

 **^K^A^Y^A^K^**

Virgil lay on the couch, watching the colors of sunset dance across the wall. They may house some of the world's most advanced technology on the island, but there was something to be said for the beauty nature provided. It was these moments that brought a sense of peace and serenity to the world, a reminder to take time to enjoy the bliss of silence.

"You drop me, and I'll kill you," Alan's voice hissed from somewhere nearby.

"No need to whisper," Gordon responded. "Virgil won't be back until tomorrow."

While it was true that he hadn't planned to return from England until morning, it was concerning that his brothers took this as a reason to feel at ease. Of course, knowing those two clowns, the reason probably involved bloodshed. This idea was supported by the shadow cast on the wall as they went by; it resembled something like a hunchbacked crab. Most likely, Gordon was carrying Alan piggy-back. That put Virgil's money on some sort of leg injury – he would walk if he could.

"If Virgil's not here, why aren't we going to the infirmary?" Alan grumbled. "It's closer."

"True, but I finally figured out what first-aid kit I can use without getting caught."

 _Oh really?_

Virgil stayed still as they went by, allowing them to continue with the illusion that they hadn't already been caught. Staying a few steps behind the dynamic duo, he quietly followed them down to the hanger bay. Bypassing the planes, Gordon carried their injured brother to his little, yellow sanctuary.

"Just relax," the aquanaut advised, setting him down in the back of the sub. "I'll have you patched up in a minute."

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"I'm International Rescue," he replied. "If you can't trust me, who can you trust?"

"How about me?" Virgil cut in.

Both of his kid brothers jumped at the sound of his voice – which was a lot more painful for one than the other. Sure enough, Alan had mangled his knee. From the look of things, it appeared that coral was the culprit, and this was confirmed by Gordon. When would these two knuckleheads learn to stop wrestling in the shallows?

"Is it gonna scar?" Alan asked as he finished up.

"Maybe a little," Virgil shrugged. "Do you want the pieces that broke off as a souvenir?"

"Who would?"

"Me!" Gordon piped up, taking the petri dish that held the tiny red pieces. "I'll add them to my collection."

"What collection?" Alan asked, looking from one brother to the other.

"Let's just say, your leg is not the first one I've extracted sea life from," Virgil replied. "Get some rest, both of you. You'll need it, if you're going to explain to Dad what happened to the kayaks tomorrow."

Both teens turned pale, but Virgil just gave them a sympathetic smile and slipped out. After all, he was a medic, not a magician. If they wanted to get this past their father – not to mention, eldest brother – they were on their own.

 _Heaven help them._

* * *

So, what did you think?

Let me know while I finish plotting out Chapter L.


	15. L is for Limp

**I'M BACK!**

I didn't really go anywhere, I've just been dealing with a lot. Headaches, backaches, fatigue, morning sickness ... but have no fear, the symptoms should clear up around mid-October. ;) Of course, I will be getting busier around that time ...

This chapter is dedicated to Stormyskies89 for reminding me (twice) of my promise to explain Virgil's limp comment from "F is for Fishhook."

A big thanks to my beta for finding a way to work on this chapter with her busy schedule.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **L is for Limp**

Scott had never been more tired in his entire life. Three rescues in one day wasn't a record, but it sure was exhausting. All he wanted now was a shower, a sandwich, and a long nap. The order of events was not important, but he most definitely needed all three.

"You okay?"

He looked over to give Virgil a smile, too tired to care how genuine it looked. His medically-trained brother always meant well, but he tended to worry too much. Luckily, even Dr. Control-Freak couldn't ground someone over lack of sleep. Not to mention that fact that he looked as tired as Scott.

"Nothing a nap won't cure. You?"

"Same. Good thing we have autopilot, right?"

Scott would have laughed if it wasn't so true. One of the biggest drawbacks of their job was the hours they kept. Disasters didn't happen on a 9-5 schedule, nor did they care how many others were happening in the world. The whole team had been spread so thin that Dad was even talking about bringing Alan on the team before he even finished his certification.

 _What a terrifying thought._

Still, his brothers were up to the challenge and they had been holding their own. With any luck, they could get a few hours rest before the next call out. All of them could use a break at this point.

"See you back at the ranch," Virgil said, turning toward Thunderbird Two.

Scott waved in response but was too tired to care if his brother saw it. He only had eyes for his own plane; his ticket back to his nice, soft bed. Managing to get back to his cockpit without tripping, he slipped into a mental autopilot and flew home purely on muscle memory. There may have been a conversation with his dad at some point during the flight – or was that with John? – but his thoughts were so wrapped up in sleep he almost didn't notice when he landed.

"That was quick," Scott muttered as he stepped down from his seat.

As soon as the pilot put weight on his foot, he knew something was wrong. A sharp pain shot up his leg and his knee gave out. If that wasn't bad enough, he was tipping over, on a walkway, fifty feet off the ground. This could end very badly. However, growing up with four younger brothers had done a lot to hone his relaxes. Managing to tilt himself the other way, Scott slammed shoulder first into the unforgiving metal of the walkway. At least it wasn't the unforgiving cement of the floor.

 _At least Virgil is not here to see this._

 **^L^I^M^P^**

Virgil yawned and stretched as he made his way into the kitchen. As exhausted as he was, there was no way he could sleep the way his stomach was growling. A light snack was just what he needed. He pulled open the refrigerator to see … Grandma's leftovers.

 _No one is that hungry._

He fared better in the pantry, selecting an apple and heading for his room. Munching his snack along the way, Virgil's mind was already preparing for sleep when something caught his eye. It was a shadow; Scott's, based on the shape and size. The troubling part was, something was off about it. Turning away from his room, he looked around the corner to see his eldest brother making his way down the hallway. He was slightly hunched, one arm wrapped around the other, and sporting a very pronounced limp. Strange since he had been fine when they left their last rescue …

"Scott?"

The form froze, and Virgil briefly wondered when his brothers would figure out that he was not a T-Rex and could still see them when they weren't moving – not that Jurassic Park was a great model of scientific fact, but the theory remained. Every time he caught one of them hurt or sick they would go rigid and silent, as if that would allow them to blend in with the décor. Not that it really mattered. In the end, he always prevailed.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Scott insisted, his face carefully neutral. "I'm just tired, I swear."

"Right, you're so tired that you're _limping_?"

"Um … yes?"

"No."

With a sigh of defeat, Scott allowed his shoulders to slump, which brought a slight wince to his expression. Virgil helped him down to the infirmary, getting the story along the way. While he was tempted to give his brother a hard for managing to fall out of his own Thunderbird, the medic was more worried about the damage caused than his sibling prerogative for good-natured ribbing. Luckily, nothing was broken.

"You must have stepped down at an angle, causing a mild sprain. A few days rest and some ice will do you wonders. While you're at it, you might want to ice that shoulder. It's only bruised, but it could be sore for a bit."

"Thanks," Scott muttered, accepting the offered ice pack. "I never thought I would be glad to be issued bed rest."

"That's just for tonight," Virgil corrected, "but you are off rescues for the rest of the week."

"What if we have a call out?"

"I think Gordon and I can hold down the fort for a few days."

"What it Thunderbird One is needed? You two don't know how to fly it."

The set up was too perfect and Virgil couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, the controls aren't that different from Thunderbird Three. Maybe Alan could take over."

It never ceased to amaze him in how quickly his brothers seemed to recover.

* * *

So, was it worth the wait?

Let me know while I get started on the next chapter ... in the morning. (Baby needs sleep.)


	16. M is for Magnet

**Hello again!**

Thanks for the well wishes for myself and Baby. We are both doing well, although I do tend to fall asleep somewhat randomly ...

This chapter was a bit of a challenge as I got (yet another) request for Virgil to get hurt in some way. While I could reiterate that this series is about Virgil catching the others and NOT about him getting hurt, something about the request struck inspiration. (Hence, we have a story.)

This chapter is for TigreMalabarista for the challenge word and Helensg fir the inspiration. (I hope this lives up to your expectations,)

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, who took a break from studying for finals to help me get this ready.

 _Enjoy ..._

* * *

 **M is for Magnet**

John stepped out of his elevator to be greeted by Scott. It had been a weird time for the team recently, hence his visit planet-side. Rescues had been sparse, not that anyone was complaining about that, but that didn't mean they could relax. In fact, for almost a week now, the team had been down one member.

"How's Virgil holding up?"

"As well as can be expected," Scott replied as they made their way out of the hanger. "His fever is going down, but it will be at least a few more days before he clears himself to go back to work."

John nodded in sympathy for his bedridden brother. The only thing worse than getting relieved from duty because of pneumonia was the fact that Gordon was the only one with enough experience at the controls of Thunderbird Two to take her out. This whole ordeal had to be killing Virgil.

"Hey, John," Alan greeted when they entered Brain's lab. "Glad you could make it."

"I can't let you guys have all the fun."

With Virgil out of commission, Brains was down one test subject. Granted, he didn't need to test all his gadgets at once, but saving time was never a bad thing. Besides, John usually didn't get to participate in this part of the job and was looking forward to the change of pace.

"Oh good, you're here," Brains said, carrying a large box into the room. "Just in time."

"What do you have for us today?" Gordon asked brightly. "Please tell me it's something to do with the water."

"Sadly, no," the scientist replied. "Today I have my new magnetic wall climbers."

"Don't we already have those?" Alan questioned, taking one of the devices from Brains.

"Yes … and no. These grips should attach to any surface; metal, cement, wood, rock-"

"We get the picture," Scott said, cutting off their friend's excited rant. "Let's get to it."

Each brother grabbed one set and moved to a different wall that had been prepped for the test. John found himself standing at the base of a rock column. The sight made him a little nervous.

He'd climbed higher – he _lived_ higher – but not with untested equipment. Virgil and Scott usually handled this job, if their youngest brothers didn't beat them to it. It wasn't so much the height that was the problem, it was more … the gravity.

"You okay over there?" Gordon asked, already halfway up a panel of wood.

"Yeah," John grunted, pulling himself another foot off the ground. "I'm fine."

At least, he was pretty sure he was fine. The grip in his left hand seemed a little loose and he couldn't tell if that was purposeful, so as to adapt to the contour of the stone, or of he was in trouble. Once he was about three feet higher, he got his answer. Just as he was repositioning his right grip, the left gave way and he fell straight to the floor – almost. At some point on the way down, his hand slammed into something excessively hard and the snap was audible.

"John!"

"Are you okay?!"

"Are you breathing?!"

The pain was enough that he couldn't even determine which of the faces hovering over him were asking him which question. He took a deep breath and held it as he forced himself to sit up, his throbbing wrist cradled in his good arm. One glance let him know that a workbench had been the cause of the problem and John made a mental note to have Brains set up the next test far away from hard objects.

"Don't move too fast," Scott advised.

"I hit my hand, not my head," John grumbled.

He looked down to see that swelling had already started, but no bruising yet. Was that a good thing or a bad sign? With any luck, it was just a bad sprain that could be treated with an ice pack. Aside from their only medic getting sick, they had been having pretty good luck recently. Maybe it would continue.

"Well," Gordon commented, helping him to his feet, "you do have one thing going for you."

"What's that?"

"With Dr. Bloodhound in bed, you don't have to worry about hiding."

That would have been a reassuring thought, if not for the cough that came from the doorway …

 **^M^A^G^N^E^T^**

Virgil leaned against the wall, willing himself to stay upright. All he had wanted was a simple cup of tea. Apparently, that was too much to ask. All he got was a crash, cry of pain, and a lot of shouting. This is what happens when the medic goes on sick leave.

"Hey, you can't be out of bed," Gordon protested. "You're under that medical code."

"You guys really need to read the safety manuals," Virgil muttered. "Code 47B, which I am subject to, allows me to treat any injuries within 150 yards of my bed … which is in the infirmary … 10 yards on the other side of that wall."

He got a certain amount of satisfaction seeing his brothers calculate how far his medical reach could go, which was exactly why he had taken to the infirmary as soon as he put himself on medical leave. His bedroom may be on the far side of the house, but his mini-hospital was right in the middle. Any injury that passed through the hangers or labs was subject to his treatment – such as the one ducking behind Scott.

"What happened to John?"

"Nothing," Alan insisted, trying to act casual. "You must have just imagined it."

"Yeah," Gordon chimed in. "It was probably one of those fever induced hallucinations."

"My fever is too low for that," Virgil replied, inching his way farther into the room. "So, what happened to John?"

They really should know by now that he was just as stubborn as any other Tracy and was not going to be swayed if someone needed his help. On the other hand, the dizziness he was feeling was making their case for them. He really did need to get back to bed, but that could wait until he knew that John was okay.

"Virgil, look at yourself," Scott scolded, reaching out to keep him from toppling to the floor. "You're way too sick to be chasing anyone around the island."

"Then stop running," the medic snapped, leaning against his brother.

The action was only partially to stay upright. It turned out that he could get a good view of John from Scott's side. The only obvious injury was his left wrist or hand, maybe both. The way he was cradling it indicated a loss of motor function – possibly caused by a sprain or fracture, which would be consistent with a fall. There was no doubt that he fell, based on the climbing grips on the mat he was standing on and the fact a crash had been hurt … also that fact that it was John and Gravity was not one of his friends.

"Look," the astronaut sighed. "I don't think it's that bad, but if I get it checked out will you _please_ go back to bed?"

Finally, a brother with sense!

"That's all I'm asking."

Ten minutes later he was fitting his brother with a brace, which would be replaced with a cast as soon as the swelling went down. The fracture wasn't as bad as it could have been, but Virgil shuddered to think what would have happened if he tried to do his job without treatment.

"You got off lucky," Virgil commented, leaning back against his pillows. "I've heard of wrist fractures that can break the skin."

"I hate having weak bones," John muttered, popping the prescribed painkiller in his mouth.

"You're the one who wanted to live in space."

John sighed and thanked him for his help before heading back toward the hanger. With Virgil still out, they couldn't afford to ground their space monitor as well. Putting him on light duty had been a compromise. He was to use his right hand, exclusively, until the cast was on and his left only sparingly after. Lucky for him, he worked with holograms and not heavy machinery. As for the bone-weary medic, he was going to prescribe himself a nice long nap-

" _Ow_!"

Virgil sighed, threw off his covers and headed for Brains' lab to see what Alan did this time.

"No rest for the infirm."

* * *

So, what did you think?

 **SIDE NOTE:** _Astronauts do actually have lower bone density, due to time in space, giving them a greater risk of fractures. (So I'm not just picking on John by breaking his bones so often, it IS actually likely that he would get fractures once and a while.)_

Let me know what you think while I figure out what the next chapter will be. :)


	17. N is for Nail

**Hello again!**

This one was a great challenge because most of my challenge words were water-themed, but I had already selected an _irresistible_ word for O that can only be used for Gordon ... well, you can see the problem. So, I chose a word that can work for the last sibling available.

This is also a sequel to the last chapter. (You'll see what I mean in the first paragraph.)

This chapter is dedicated to the anonymous reviewer who gave me a challenge word that inspired me.

A great big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for making time between work and finals to help me with this chapter.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **N is for Nail**

Kayo looked out on the dock with the district feeling that she was wasting her time. With Virgil still in bed for at least 24 more hours and John nursing a broken wrist, the team was in a precarious position. With only two able bodied members, any call out could mean trouble. In fact, Mr. Tracy had flown to London to meet with Lady Penelope about reviewing contingency plans for worst case scenarios. With all this going on, how in the world had she allowed the dynamic duo to talk her into a _scavenger hunt_?

"Come on," Gordon had goaded. "You already finished emergency plans A – X, why not relax for an hour before finishing Y and Z?"

"It's not like you can do anything until Dad gets back," Alan added.

That wasn't entirely true. She had been charged with making sure the remaining team members remained unharmed, so as not to cause any more problems for their organization. Best way she could think of doing that was to play their game and make sure their hunt didn't have them climbing any cliffs – which had happened before.

"Next thing," she sighed, looking at her list. "Something that grows underwater."

Briefly wondering if she could use Gordon to fulfil that requirement, Kayo headed down the dock. In the shallows she could see a variety of plant and animal life, but figured kelp or seaweed would work just fine. Kneeling at the side, she reached into the water and grabbed a handful of the closest green thing to the dock. It was thick, and she had to yank hard to pull it up.

"Ah!" Kayo grunted as her arm scrapped across something hard.

It turned out to be a nail, loosened by the salt-water soaked wood. Fantastic. At least the cut was not deep, though it was beginning to ooze blood. The only question now was, is it worth the risk of a trip to the infirmary to treat it?

Peeking inside the medical ward a few minutes later, Kayo was relieved to see Virgil sound asleep in one of the beds. Carefully and quietly as possible, she slipped over to the workstation – thankful that she had actually paid attention to where the medic stocked each supply. At this rate she would be in and out before he even –

"Kayo?"

Drat.

 **^N^A^I^L^**

Virgil propped himself up on his elbow, so he could get a better view of what part of his workstation Kayo was rummaging through. Second drawer down: wound care. That meant it could be anything from a paper cut to impalement. Since he didn't see anything sticking out of his sister – and she was keeping herself upright without help – he was going to guess it was closer to paper cut. Of course, she could be getting supplies for someone else, but Kayo wasn't known to cover for anyone actively bleeding.

"How bad is it?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned about," she relied without turning around. "Go back to sleep."

Not likely, especially since no one _ever_ came to the infirmary without good reason. The last time a person to walk in under their own power – without some form of persuasion from the medic – was when Scott almost took his finger off working on Thunderbird One.

"Do you need stitches?"

"It's just a little cut," Kayo admitted, keeping her back to him. "I'll be fine."

Virgil shook his head and pulled back his blanket, quietly slipping out of bed. Kayo may not cover for the boys on the island, but she did have a tendency to minimize her own injuries. Best for him to have a look for himself.

"Where do you think you're going?"

At least the injury had not hindered her ninja skills.

"I think I'm doing my job," he replied, slowly making his way across the room. "It's kind of a habit of mine."

Turning to him for the first time – but keeping her right arm behind her – she gave him a stern look. Virgil may be the team medic, but she was the head of security. Both of them were charged with keeping the team alive, so why did they seem to butt heads so often?

"You are still recovering."

"I'm practically healed."

"I don't need treatment."

"Then why are you in the medical supplies?"

And so, the stand off continued. In the end, it was Kayo who caved, probably to prove she was right and it was nothing more than a simple cut. Checking the injury, he had to agree. The cut was not deep enough for stitches, but the jagged edges still gave him pause.

"Where did this happen?"

"On the dock."

"Right," he gave her a smile. "I'll prep the tetanus shot."

Nodding at her protests that no vaccine was necessary, Virgil turned to his records. Any time an injury happened that involved anything like dirt or rust – which the entire dock qualified as – he had to make sure they were up to date on all their vaccines. Just as he thought, it had been almost six years since Kayo's last shot.

"It's been longer than five years," Virgil argued. "You have to get the shot."

"Technically, you are still under medical code 47B," she shot back. "You are not considered medically fit to order treatments, only recommend them."

While he was pleased that someone read his safety manuals, it was annoying to have his own standards used against him. It was true; until he was cleared for duty and could prove no fever or medication was hindering his judgment, only the head of International Rescue – or acting equivalent – could order someone to get treatment or risk grounding. With Dad in another time zone, there was only one thing to do.

"Virgil to Scott."

"I really hate you sometimes."

He gave her a smile while his brother answered his call. He didn't mind being hated, just as long as everyone was healthy.

* * *

So, what did you think?

I'll put up the next chapter tomorrow, after I add some finishing touches. In the meantime, feedback is always welcome.


	18. O is for Ostrich

**Sorry for the delay!**

I meant to have this up last night, but life got in the way.

So, for those of you who remember waiting for "G is for Glitter," you may recall that Gordon was the reason it took so long. This chapter is ... a sort of payback for that. (It could be titled "Gordon Tracy and the Horrible Rotten No Good Very Bad Day" ... but he was asking for it.)

This chapter is dedicated to TigreMalabarista for the _phenomenal_ challenge word that I just HAD to find a way to use.

Once again, I would like to thank my beta, 1monster2, for their help during the college bust season.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **O is for Ostrich**

Gordon kicked a rock with a huff as he walked under the scorching sun. The day had started out badly and gone downhill from there. With Grandma and Dad visiting friends in Kansas and Operation Thunderbird still a couple weeks from launching, his brothers had found themselves with a great opportunity for some sibling bonding. They had taken a vote the day before to figure out what their outing should be. Naturally, Gordon had voted for a waterpark, but he was outnumbered.

" _It's not that bad,"_ John's voice came through his handheld. _"You used to like safaris."_

"Yeah, when they include water animals," Gordon grumbled. "I haven't seen so much as a frog yet! Next time we vote on an outing you better be on Earth, so you can help me overrule Virgil and Alan."

" _Sorry, but if I had been part of the vote, I probably would have gone with Scott's idea for the Air and Space Museum."_

Of course he would – the nerd. What did his brothers have against fun? In this heat, a waterpark was way better than a hike in the sand. There wasn't even good shade in this area, just a lot of thorn bushes. A perfect setting for a horrible day.

" _What have you seen so far?"_ John asked, clearly trying to get him to see the bright side of things. _"Any lions?"_

"No; we'll take the bus tour of the really dangerous animals later. There was a giraffe hanging around a while ago."

" _That's cool."_

It was, but Gordon had already decided that nothing would impress him today. At least he had John to keep him company, even if he was in orbit. With Operation Thunderbird so close to completion, the astronaut was taking every opportunity he could to get familiar with his new equipment.

" _Uh, Gordon?"_

"Yeah?" he replied, frowning at the serious tone in his brother's voice.

" _How far are you from the main complex?"_

"I don't know … why?"

" _I just got a report of a low-level emergency in the area. It seems one of their more aggressive ostriches escaped from his enclosure and is in the guest area of the park."_

Gordon paused mid-step. While he had trouble seeing one of those goofy looking birds as dangerous, he knew first hand how aggressive innocent looking creatures could be. After all, leopard seals were adorable. On the other hand, they did say it was a 'low-level emergency,' so they probably had everything under control. Or maybe not …

"Hey, John?" Gordon whispered, eyes locked on the giant bird headed his way. "What does it mean when an ostrich is coming at you with their wings out?"

" _Jump in a thorn bush! NOW!"_

Not giving it another thought – as that feathered dinosaur was _fast_! – Gordon dove into the nearest bush. The thorns scraped across his face and arms, but better that then the talons that had just reached him. He could see them past the branches, as harmless and unassuming as a jellyfish. Yup, he was not going anywhere.

" _Gordon? You okay?"_ John's voice whispered.

"Shh," he hushed, not wanting to speak until those feet had moved out of sight.

It took a few minutes before Big Bird's deranged brother lost interest and continued on his way – and another before Gordon allowed himself to breathe again. That was too close.

"He's gone," the aquanaut reported, tempted to add that this wouldn't have happened at the waterpark.

" _Glad to hear it,"_ John replied. _"I sent word to the keepers to check your area for him."_

"Thanks."

But even as he said the word, Gordon wanted to take it back. The branches had closed over him, snagging his shirt and pants, while simultaneously digging into any and all exposed skin. In simple terms, he was stuck.

"This is all your fault!" Gordon snapped five minutes later, when all attempts to free himself had only succeeded in getting him more tangle. "Just jump in a thorn bush – fantastic idea."

" _Well, I'm sorry,"_ John shot back, _"but that ostrich was not about to follow you into a thorn bush."_

"Briar Rabbit wouldn't follow me into a thorn bush!"

" _Would you calm down! Panicking won't make the situation better."_

Who was panicking? Gordon was angry! First, he got dragged out to the middle of a wasteland to see a bunch of animals who thought sitting in a mud puddle counted as swimming. Next, he gets attacked by King Kong's bird-brained cousin. To top it all off, he is trapped in the bush from Hell. No doubt about it, this day could not get any worse.

"Gordon?"

Now the cherry on top of his crap Sunday: Dr. Bloodhound was on his trail. Perfect.

 **^O^S^T^R^I^C^H^**

Virgil jogged up to the bush, still trying to figure out what he was seeing. His little brother was curled into a ball, hands and knees in the dirt, completely encased in thorns. How does he manage to get himself into these things?

"I'm assuming there's a good reason for this …"

"John's a jerk," Gordon responded bitterly.

" _You're welcome,"_ their older brother's voice chimed in.

Okay, clearly, he would have to get the details later. Right now, the most important thing was detangling Gordon before even more damage was done. Already, Virgil could see dozens of scratches and abrasions covering the teen's arms and neck. At least he was wearing a thick shirt; that offered some protection.

"Can you climb out?"

"Oh sure, I just felt like hanging out for a while."

The amount of anger and sarcasm aimed at him was making it increasingly tempting to just walk away. However, he was a member of International Rescue and it wasn't their style to leave someone stranded – no matter how annoying they were.

"Just don't move, I'll have you out in a minute."

For once, Gordon kept his mouth shut as Virgil pulled out his pocket knife. Ever so carefully, he trimmed away the branches until his brother could stand without eliciting further injury. It was slow going, but soon the teen was free … to grumble and complain.

"This wouldn't have happened if you had sided with me," Gordon stated on their way to the first aid hut.

"Yeah, who could possibly get hurt in a waterpark?" Virgil commented. "Slippery surfaces and concrete tubs are a fantastic combination for safety."

"Better than here … How'd you find me in there anyway?"

"You're wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt; it's not exactly camouflage."

His brother scowled but went quiet. He still hadn't said what he was doing in the thorn bush in the first place, but John could provide that information once they were all back home. In the meantime, a certain teenager had an appointment with antiseptic. Poor kid; this was just not his day.

* * *

So, was I too mean to him?

Let me know what you think while I figure out who is up to bat next.


	19. P is for Pickle Juice

**I'm back!**

So, this chapter was a real pain to work on. I was trying very hard to please the readers, but the challenge proved harder than most. Nevertheless, I did not give up and FINALLY got this thing done.

 **NOTE:** I went through several scenarios, trying to come up with a viable chapter, and originally settled on the word "Pineapple." However, that story refused to be written. So, I took a page from my own life (and pregnancy cravings) to create what you are about to read.

This chapter is for Nightreader who pushed for their challenge word and Jillane Theresa for their choice of the featured Tracy.

Thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for making time to help get this chapter ready.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **P is for Pickle Juice**

Scott stretched out his shoulder for the third time in the last hour, being careful to check for any nosey medics first. Virgil had already fussed at him enough when his grip slipped and he nearly planted himself at the bottom of a ravine in Peru. No need to tell him that he almost dislocated his shoulder when he dropped. It was probably just a pulled muscle anyway; it would be fine in the morning.

"Hey, Edmond Hillary," Gordon greeted, slapping him on the back. "How was Everest?"

"Wrong continent. I was on Alpamayo."

"Close enough."

"You did hear the word 'continent,' right?"

The aquanaut just laughed and led the way into the kitchen. Scott shook his head and followed. His brother may have unique ways of checking up on them, but he was always ready to help lighten the mood after a tough rescue. Not that pulling a couple of stranded hikers out of the snow was especially hard, but there had been a couple of close calls; hence, the shoulder.

"So, what'd you get in the 4th of July picnic drawing?" Gordon asked, pulling a bottled water from the refrigerator. "I'm on desserts. Can you add chocolate chips to a lime jello mold?"

"Only if you're Grandma," Scott replied. "I got side dish again. I was thinking fruit salad would be good. I think we still have pineapple."

"You make that every year!" the teen groaned. "Can you at least _attempt_ something new? How about potato salad?"

"That's kinda John's thing."

"Yeah, but he got meat this time and I already know Alan is going to stick with store bought dinner rolls for his side."

Scott thought about it. While it was true he always managed to get by with some sort of fruit salad, as he had always drawn a side dish or dessert, it might be nice to change things up. So, while his brother went out to cause trouble in some way or another, he set to work on his contribution to the family's annual picnic.

The potatoes were easy enough to prep, and it was a breeze chopping up the onions and celery. He put the eggs boiling and consulted his mom's old recipe. Spices … check … veggies … check … eggs … working on it … relish … uh-oh. He double checked the pantry and refrigerator only to confirm what he already knew. They were out of relish.

"No problem," Scott muttered to himself. "I have pulled people from mountains, burning buildings, and sinking ships; I think I can handle making a condiment."

Besides, relish was basically just cut up pickles, right? How hard could that be? Pulling the jar of pickles out of the refrigerator, he estimated how many he would need. They weren't that big, so maybe four would be enough. He started chopping them, but soon stopped.

"Those are _way_ too big."

Chopping wasn't going to work, he needed to dice. How did one dice pickles? Racking his brain to remember all those cooking shows that Grandma watched, Scott started to move his knife every which way. Slowly, the pickles began to look like the kinds in the relish jar. Getting more confident, he began to speed up his prep, marveling at how quickly the whole pickles were becoming –

"Gah!"

Biting his lip to keep from screaming too loud, Scott looked down to see that his knife movements had created a substantial cut at the base of his thumb. To make matters worse, the juice from the pickles was seeping into the injury and the stinging that resulted was almost enough to make him scream again.

Thinking fast, he turned toward the sink and stuck his hand under the faucet. The water did a lot to soothe the sting, but the cut was still bleeding heavily. A nearby towel was enough to staunch the flow and Scott hurried down to the infirmary, careful not to leave a trail. After all, he had managed to avoid detection this long, why break the streak now. However, upon reaching the empty room, he quickly realized how difficult it was going to be to bandage one hand with the other. He couldn't even get the gauze out of the drawer without removing pressure from the cut. How was he going to–

"You know, it's really hard to administer stitches one-handed."

He didn't …

 **^P^I^C^K^L^E^J^U^I^C^E^**

Virgil leaned against the doorframe, studying the towel wrapped around his brother's hand. Based on the amount of blood, that cut had to be deep. He'd probably need stitches, but that seemed to be the last thing on Scott's mind.

"How?" he demanded. "How could you _possibly_ know I cut myself?"

"Aside from the fact you just confirmed it?" Virgil responded with a smirk.

Ignoring the glare shooting daggers his way, the medic stepped around his brother to get out the suture kit. Let him wonder how he knew about the injury, Virgil was only concerned with treating it. The cut was deep, like he feared, and it took quite a few stitches to get it closed.

"You'll have to baby it for a while," he told the older pilot. "No flying for at least two days."

"Oh, come on," Scott groaned. "It's just a little cut."

"That little cut needs 48 hours of careful cleaning and treatment. You rip out my sutures, that timeline resets."

There were no more protests as Virgil spread Vaseline over the injury and covered it with a clean bandage. He would reassess it in 24 hours, but he knew his brothers and preferred to err on the side of caution – at least verbally. It was nice when he got to 'let him off the hook' a day or two early, which could always happen _if_ they followed his instructions.

"All done with your hand," the medic announced a moment later. "Now, can I have a look at that shoulder?"

"Seriously?!"

"Yes, seriously. You've been favoring it since I got down here. Besides, you're already off flying. What's the worst that can happen?"

Grudgingly, Scott let him examine the other injury. Luckily, his shoulder was only a minor strain and, with a little ice, would be fine by the time he was back on fully duty. In fact, that problem would have corrected itself in a few days without help. Virgil may not have found out about it at all if it hadn't been for the cut.

Thank heaven for blood drops on a cutting board.

* * *

So, was it worth the long wait?

 **NOTE 2:** I was craving potato salad a week or two ago (had never made it in my life) and used dice pickles in place of the relish I did not own. It wasn't bad.

I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, but I need the challenge words to do it. (Feedback and requests are appreciated as well.)


	20. Q is for Quilt

**I'M ALIVE!**

Seriously though, sorry for the long weight. (It seems pregnancy can take a lot out of a person, and pregnacy while moving from an apartment to a house takes even more. Who knew?) On top of that, Q turned out to be the hardest chapter to write in this story and Alan's combined. The trickiest part was coming up with an original plot. (I couldn't very well recreate the earthquake from Alan's story.) Once I (FINALLY) got an idea, I sorta rushed it - in other words, please excuse any medical inconsistencies/errors as I did not spend as much time in research as I normally do.

This chapter is for CreativeGirl29 for her challenge word, though I did take it a different route than you suggested.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for taking time out of her crazy busy schedule to get the chapter ready.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **Q is for Quilt**

Virgil lay on the couch, pretending to go over a car magazine while keeping an ear out for trouble. Not only had Alan and Gordon gone out to the pool to "test" their new invention – which was terrifying enough – but a bad solar flare had knocked out several of the systems on Thunderbird Five. Since the sensor that identified which systems were among the casualties, Brains and John were using emergency radios to troubleshoot the problem areas. First step: reestablish the sensors.

"Okay, John, once you are finished diverting power, the system should restart itself."

"It's not w-working."

Virgil frowned, lowering his magazine. Brains had been known to stammer now and then, but not John. The scientist didn't seem to notice – which was not surprising since the man was deep in work mode – but the medic couldn't help but make a mental note of it. Half listening to Brains talking John through the next steps, Virgil paid close attention to his brother's response.

"Is it restarting now?"

"I think … maybe … not sure."

Confusion; another symptom to add to the list. Honestly, this one was more concerning than the stammer. Mental issues were common side effects of head trauma, but they hadn't been out of touch long enough to give the guy time to get a concussion. Besides, his gravity was out. Virgil was no expert on space travel, but he was pretty sure that it was hard to slam into things without an outside force pushing or pulling you.

"Brains," he interjected, pulling his attention from his remote consul. "Are the sensors in John's suit functioning?"

"All sensors are down. Why?"

Virgil waved off the question, mentally running through a list of possible causes for John's symptoms. Without a current reading of his vitals, that wasn't easy – especially with how evasive his brothers were to any medically relevant questionnaires. Then again, perhaps the astronaut's current state had some advantages.

"Hey, John?" he called into the radio. "Are you sore at all?"

"W-What? No, I … huh? What are you … talking ab-bout?"

The pauses in his speech pattern could be connected to the confusion, but Virgil had a feeling the stammer was equally to blame. Now what, aside from a concussion – not that he was ruling that out completely at this time – would cause the stammer? Better ask a few more probing questions.

"Are you bleeding at all?"

"No. I'm fixing a computer."

Slightly more coherent, but if John had truly been lucid he would have assured Virgil he was fine by now. No, something was wrong. Very wrong. But what was it? Maybe a new line of questioning could shed some light on the subject.

"How's that coming along?"

"It's hard," John admitted. "Quilt keeps ge-getting in the way."

Quilt? Why would he – oh no! Springing off the couch, Virgil ordered Brains to get the sensors on John's suit functioning as soon as humanly possible. Not stopping to explain why, he raced outside.

"Alan!" he shouted.

Startled, the teen looked up from the edge of the pool where Gordon was attaching himself to … something. It looked like some kind of fuel powered floatation device, but Virgil could worry about that later – kinda. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Gordon, you turn that thing on before I can look at it and I'm grounding you for mental deficiency. Alan, come with me."

"What did I do?" he demanded as Virgil physically pulled him back to the house. "He's the one who built it!"

"I really don't care right now. Scott's out with Dad and I need you to fly me to Thunderbird 5."

"Really?" Alan asked hopefully, before his expression darkened. "What's wrong with John?"

"Unless I'm wrong, and I pray that I am, he's got hypothermia."

 **^Q^U^I^L^T^**

John floated next to the computer, watching the lights blink on and off. He had been doing something but was having trouble remembering what. Brains had stopped talking to him for some reason. Or was it Virgil?

A shiver wracked his body and he tried to pull his thin quilt tighter around himself. Why was it so cold? Space was cold, but his station wasn't. Not really. His suit always kept him warm, but it just seemed to make him colder. Why was it so cold?

A banging sound got his attention and he managed to propel himself down the icy corridor to the airlock. He could see red out the window and wondered what Scott and Alan were doing here. They weren't supposed to be here. They would get cold too.

"John," came a voice through the radio still in his hand. "You need to open the door."

"Brains? Are y-you on Th-Thunderbird Th-Th-Three?"

"Just push the button, everything will be fine."

Without a reason not to, John activated the door controls. Floating in the airlock was Alan and … Virgil? He didn't come up here. He was gonna get cold.

"What are you-"

"Don't talk, John just come with me."

Not having much choice, especially since both brothers were pulling him along, he allowed himself to be led into Thunderbird Three. Once there, Virgil and Alan set to work … taking off his clothes … huh?

"No," he protested, weakly trying to push their hands away. "I'm c-cold."

"I know it doesn't make a lot of sense right now," Virgil replied, continuing to unfasten his suit, "but this will help."

"Can I keep the quilt?"

"Sure," Alan said, before looking at Virgil. "I mean, I think so."

"That's fine, just get your suit off."

Satisfied that his covering wasn't going anywhere, John allowed his brothers to remove his uniform and replace it with sweatpants and a sweater. Almost immediately he began to warm up. By the time they reached home, he was feeling worlds better.

"What exactly happened?" John asked, as Virgil took down his vital signs in the infirmary.

"My best guess is that the solar flare knocked out the temperature controls in your suit," the medic replied. "You were literally freezing to death."

Not for the first time, John was grateful for his brother's bloodhound instincts when it came to health issues. Lucky for him, Brains had a spare suit on hand, so he could go back as soon as he was medically cleared – once he upgraded the shielding to prevent this sort of thing from happening again.

"Hey, John," Scott called, jogging into the room. "I heard you had a close call today."

"Not really," he shrugged, even as Virgil gave a firm "yes."

"Well, Dad will be down in a minute. You can tell us all about it then. Oh, and Virgil, you may want to head out to the pool. Alan was strapping himself to something that looked like a blow-up shark with a motor –"

The medic sighed as he jotted down his final notes in the log on his way out the door, muttering something about needing a vacation.

* * *

So, was it worth the wait?

Feedback is always welcome as well as challenge words for R. Thank you for you patience.

NOTE: I will try to get the next one up sooner, but my little guy is due (literally) any time now, so we'll just have to wait and see.


	21. R is for Robot

This time I have a good reason for being late ...

 **Nicholas Raphael**

 **Born 10/13/2018**

 **12:56am 7lb 7oz**

Seriously, I went into labor the day after I posted the last chapter. The next few weeks are kinda a blur, but I got started on this chapter as soon as my brain caught up with the rest of me. However, I have discovered that my writing speed has dropped significantly since becoming a mom - probably because I typed this while holding my baby. Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait.

Sadly, my previous beta has become too busy with work and school to continue. So, I would like to thank my new beta, Angelic Jedi98, for taking the time to help me out.

This chapter is dedicated to Dragondancer81 for coming up with the challenge word.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **R is for Robot**

Kayo ducked as a metal arm swung over her head. Stepping to the side, she struck with her elbow and the robot ground to a halt. With her opponent defeated, she straightened up and moved over to where Brains was standing at a computer display.

"Forty-five seconds," he reported. "Not bad."

"It's still too easy."

The engineer frowned and returned to his calculations. The two of them had been working on an automated combat training dummy for her, but it wasn't effective unless it actually provided a challenge. Advising Brains to require more than two direct hits to stop the robot, Kayo left him to his programming. After all, she had better thing to do with her time than to stand around and watch him work.

"Hey, Kayo!"

Turning around, she saw Alan jogging toward her. As much as she enjoyed time with her honorary brothers, the sight of him made her eyes narrow. He rarely looked that excited to see her, unless he had gotten some idea in his head about pitching in with her job.

"Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"I haven't said anything!"

"You didn't have to."

The pout gave it away. He was going to ask for something he shouldn't have. Typical. Not wanting – or usually needing – to repeat herself, Kayo continued on her way. Stopping by the kitchen for a bottle of water, she went to the living room to check in with John. He had been monitoring a few situations she was interested in-

"Kayo!"

 _Now what?_

"Yes, Brains?"

"I think we did it," he said excitedly. "We found that if we took away the minimum hits and replaced it with a few vulnerable spots, the robot would be the challenge you were looking for."

While that sounded great, Kayo got a bad feeling about the situation. He kept saying 'we,' but she had only minor input on the project. There was a chance that he was referring to MAX, but something told her that wasn't the case.

"Brains, who helped you program the robot?"

"What? Oh, Alan did."

He kept talking, but Kayo was already walking away. That must have been what the kid wanted to ask her. When would he learn to listen?! Just as she feared, she found him in the workshop with the robot – although _under_ the robot might be a more accurate description.

"Kayo!" he yelped, the word 'help' coming loud and clear in his tone.

Jumping in, she dealt a blow to the side of the robot's head, but that only made it pause. Turning sharply, it struck her in the lower back as she moved to shield Alan. Remembering what Brains said about the upgraded program, it took four more hits to find enough vulnerable spots the shut the thing down.

"Thanks," Alan sighed, wiping blood off his lip. "For a second there, I thought I was a goner."

"You still might be," Kayo replied, carefully straightening her sore back.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're bleeding."

The teen's eyes grew wide as the meaning of her words sunk in. Grabbing his arm before he had a chance to run, Kayo marched him to the stairs. Time to face the music.

 **^R^O^B^O^T^**

Virgil had just sat down at his piano when he notice movement at the door. He gave it a quick glance as he placed his fingers on the keys. Alan must have done something pretty stupid to have Kayo leading him toward Dad's desk- was that blood?

"Virgil, you have a patient."

"I see that," he sighed, folding up his sheet music. "I'll meet you in the infirmary."

She nodded and pulled the teen back through the door. Following them downstairs, Virgil speculated to himself on what had happened this time. Gordon was out on a rescue, so half the mischievous stupid things he could have done were out. He remembered something about Brains testing something for Kayo, but most of what their resident genius came up with didn't cause a split lip. On the other hand-

Virgil's thoughts were cut off when he noticed something about the pair in front of him. There was something different about the way Kayo was walking. It looked like a slight limp, which in someone like his honorary sister meant a significant injury – anything less and she would never let it show. However, Alan was the one bleeding, so he was the first patient on his list. Maybe he could use that …

"Hey, Kayo, can you keep him from bolting while I patch him up?"

"Sure."

Great, now that she wasn't going anywhere, he could take care of Alan. Luckily, his injuries looked worse than they were. A split lip and some minor bruising were a small price to pay for the valuable lesson of why the combat training dummy was strictly for Kayo. Speaking of which …

"Ice packs on in the cupboard behind you and grab an extra one for me."

"What happened to you?" Kayo questioned with a frown.

"Nothing," Virgil replied, "but I was about to ask you the same question."

"Busted," Alan snickered.

Kayo shoot him a look that had him tossing the ice pack to Virgil before running out the door. The medic, however, was used to such reactions from his patients and wasn't going to let non-verbal threats keep him from doing his job. He simply launched into his standard line of questions to determine the type and severity of the injury. When he finally got Kayo to admit that she had taken a hit protecting Alan from his own teenage stupidity, Virgil was able to treat the bruising and prescribe 24 hours of light duty.

"That means no fights, with robot or otherwise," he clarified. "I'd also avoid any acts of revenge until at least the weekend. Agreed?"

"Fine." She caved. "That will give you time to restock your supplies."

Virgil just smiled and picked up his logbook, to record the treatments, while Kayo left the infirmary. Good thing she had yet to hear that Alan would be in England this weekend. Hopefully she will have forgiven him by the time he gets back. If not … well, Virgil had until Monday to get his supplies in order.

* * *

So, what do you think?

Feedback is always welcome, as are challenge words for S.

 _P.S. I don't normally like posting things that are too personal, but for the next couple weeks I'm going to change my profile pic to my new baby. (I kinda like showing off how cute he is. Do you blame me?)_


	22. S is for Splinter

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

Okay, I'm a little (36 days) late, but you try typing with a clingy, wiggly newborn. I thought it would be easier when he got a little bigger, but now he is leaning how to reach and grab. Luckily, he no longer feels the need to nap in my arms (and only my arms), so I had a chance to work on this. (FINALLY!)

This chapter is for akimakel, Guest D, thunderbird shadow, and the anonymous Guest for their challenge word, as well as articuno13 for the requested brother. I would also like to give credit to my dad for his engineering expertise and my younger sister, Courtney, for medical advise. Thank you all.

Also, I would like to give a shout out to my new beta, Angelic Jedi98, for going over the chapter with me.

 _NOTE: This piece makes references to "B is for Boat" from the ABC's of Alan and "K is for Kayak" from this series._

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **S is for Splinter**

Virgil sat on the dock, trying hard to capture the colors of the fading day. No matter how much he tried, the canvas just seemed flat. The sunset spread out before him in a vibrant rainbow, fading from one bold color to the next, but his painting looked more like a pile of gummy worms.

"It might help if you picked up the brush!"

Virgil looked over his shoulder to see Gordon carrying a tool box. All thoughts of the sunset slipped away as he narrowed his eyes.

"Where are you going with that?"

"There a law against using tools?"

"No, but you better have a good reason for talking mine out of my workshop."

"How else do you expect me to maintain my boat?"

His boat? His boat was fiberglass. He didn't need woodworking tools for that. On top of that, he just did a full detailing of the thing last week.

"I repeat, why did you take my tools out of my workshop?"

"To maintain my boat," Gordon insisted.

"Unless you plan to cut a hole in the fiberglass, I can't see why you need a wood saw."

"Not my speedboat, my sailboat."

"You still _have_ that thing?!" Virgil gaped.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Gordon just gave him a deep scowl and stormed off to the boathouse. Virgil considered going after him, but decided to leave it be. It wasn't as if he didn't appreciate an antique, he just didn't care for ones that almost kill his little brothers.

Returning his attention to his painting, Virgil attempted to focus on his own work. After all, if Gordon wanted to keep that floating death trap it was his business. Maybe the maintenance would make if safer the next time he decided to take it out – though, the way he heard it, Alan was more at fault for their injuries than the boat itself.

On the other hand, Gordon had seemed pretty upset and tools are the last thing you should be handling when your emotions are high. Virgil was just about to give up on the sunset when the boathouse door opened again. Gordon strode past the dock at an easy pace, hands in his pockets, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Something was very wrong.

"Where you going now?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

"Oh, I just forgot something."

"What?"

"Just … the hammer."

"Oh," Vigil nodded, turning back to his art supplies. "There should be one on my workbench."

Gordon gave him a smile and headed for the house. Once he was out of sight, the artist quickly packed up his paints. He had a bad feeling he needed to switch gears into medic.

 **^S^P^L^I^N^T^E^R^**

Gordon hurried into the infirmary and scanned the visible medical supplies. He'd probably need a bandage and some sort of antiseptic, but first he needed tweezers. He found those in one of the drawers and flipped on the desk lamp so he could see better. As carefully as possible, he extracted his hand from his pocket, hissing when the large splinter in his palm caught on the edge of his shirt. It was a stupid rookie mistake, trying to sand while mad, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that Virgil would be on the dock until the light faded, which gave him about …

"I had a feeling I'd find you in here."

… negative three seconds.

For a moment, Gordon considered trying to hide the splinter, but seeing as the thing was the size of the Titanic, there was no covering it up now. So, reluctantly, he allowed Virgil to steer him to a chair and place his hand on his worktable.

The injury was pretty bad, a huge shard of wood piercing his skin. It wasn't the first time he had a splinter, but it was the first time the thing was bigger than his finger. The wood looked dark next to the strip of white paint, but not so much next to the blood oozing around the sides. Why didn't he just take it out already?

"You gonna pull it or just keep staring at it."

"Trust me, you don't want me to pull it," Virgil murmured. "At this angle, I'd probably only get half of it out."

"You mean you're just gonna leave it there?!"

"Yes, Gordon," the medic replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm going to have you pilot Thunderbird Four with a _pencil_ stuck in your hand."

Without giving him a chance to respond to that, Virgil opened one of his desk drawers and retrieved a scalpel. Ever so carefully, he cut the skin that covered the wood before removing the splinter with his tweezers. He then cleaned and dressed the wound.

"No swimming without your wetsuit for a few days," he instructed, cleaning up his desk. "You can fly tomorrow."

"I guess it could have been worse," Gordon muttered, testing his range of motion. "Can I keep the splinter?"

"Be my guest."

Virgil held out a dish that contained the bloodstained wood, which Gordon eagerly accepted. His brother may keep their medical history in files and logbooks, but he preferred the shoe box in his closet. He was halfway out the door, planning to add the splinter to his growing collection, when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Virgil?"

"Yeah?"

"Just this once, how did you know?"

"That you hurt yourself? Easy; you said you were looking for my hammer."

Gordon was a little surprised, as he expected him to say there was blood seeping through his pocket or a slight wince to his smile. How would a hammer have tipped him – oh, of course.

"There was already a hammer in your tool box, wasn't there?"

"Maybe," Virgil shrugged, stowing his supplies. "I don't actually remember where I used it last."

"Than why was that the tip off?"

The medic just smiled and closed his desk drawer.

"Your boat is built with screws."

* * *

So? Like it? Hate it?

Comments are always welcome, including challenge words. At the moment, however, my baby is tired and needs Momma snuggles. Until next time.

P.S. I updated my avatar to a recent picture of my little guy.


	23. T is for Tree

**Hello again.**

I'm going to keep this short because my baby is teething and my nerves are shot.

This chapter is dedicated to Thunder Bunns for the challenge word.

A big thanks to my beta, Angelic Jedi98, for her help getting it ready.

I need sleep.

Enjoy ...

* * *

 **T is for Tree**

Alan meandered down the trail, not really in a hurry to get to his destination. Didn't really have a destination to hurry too. John had helped him get some extra credit homework to bring up his civics grade, which was reason enough to lengthen out his walk. However, his wonderings seem to have drifted into lunchtime. Since he hadn't seen the Thunderbirds return, there was a high chance that Grandma would be taking over the kitchen.

Yet another reason to lose himself on the island.

A dozen steps later, he was almost ready to brave Grandma's cooking … almost. Fortunately, the South Pacific was known for its exotic plant life, which included fruits. Now the problem was to find something edible.

The first Alan came across was a breadfruit tree, but barely gave it a second glance. Even if he found one ready to pick, he was in no position to cook it. Next, he came to a mango tree. That would work, assuming he could find one ripe enough to eat. None of the ones close to the ground looked right, so he started to climb. Higher and higher he went, but not one fruit looked ready to eat – except that one. Hanging from a far branch was the ripest mango on the tree. The trick was how to reach it.

Holding onto the branch above his head, Alan shuffled his feet away from the trunk. While he wasn't exactly afraid of heights, something told him to keep his eyes on the fruit and not the ground. One foot then the next, he made his way across the swaying branch. It seemed to be swaying more than when he started. No matter, he was almost there. Another few inches and he would be able to reach –

The next sensation Alan felt could best be described as being stuck in a dryer with a bag of sticks and leaves. When it was over, he found himself sore and dirty with a mouthful of foliage. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the teen got up very – _very_ – slowly. His arms worked okay, as did his legs. A sharp pain stabbed his knee, but it wasn't too bad. There were a few minor cuts here and there, but there was no telling which spot was a bruise and which was dirt.

Virgil was going to have a field day with this one … _if_ he found out.

A side trip to the dock allowed him to rinse the dirt and any dried blood off his arms and legs. If his reflection was anything to go by, his face wasn't too bad either. In fact, there wasn't a single sign that he had taken a fall at all. Let Dr. Bloodhound just try to sniff out anything _this_ time.

 **^T^R^E^E^**

"Nice of you to join us, Alan."

Virgil glanced up at Scott's comment, but quickly returned to his sketch. If he was going to have his new painting ready for Grandma's birthday, he needed to get the first stage done soon. Now, should he do a sunset or sunrise? Maybe he should put together some sample color palettes to decide. Unfortunately, he left his paints by the couch.

"I was just down at the dock," Alan replied. "You ready for my lesson?"

"Brains is still running a diagnostic on Thunderbird Three, but we can go as soon as he's done."

"Okay."

Alan dropped down on the couch, with all the graces of a newborn calf, nearly landing on top of Virgil's paint box. Shooting him a sideways glance, the artist leaned around the teen to retrieve his supplies. A flash of color caught his eye and the medic stood up, giving his brother a closer look. A few discolored patches of skin and some minor scratches marred both his arms as well as his legs. However, where there is smoke there is often fire and, especially in medicine, looks can be very deceiving.

"Did you go anywhere besides the dock?"

"No," Alan insisted, his voice taking a defensive tone. "Why?"

"I just have a feeling you were on one of the trails."

"I was not!"

"Where'd you get those scratches?"

"I slipped on the dock."

"And the bruises?"

"It was wet."

"And the mango leaf in the collar of your shirt?"

"Um …"

"Let's go."

Defeated, Alan didn't put up a fight as Virgil marched him down to the infirmary. If was a little harder to get the whole story, but by the time he had cleaned half his cuts the kid had fessed up. All things considered, Alan got off lucky with a sprained knee and bruised ego. Those mango trees were pretty tall – he could have broken his neck!

"Ice it until I tell you to stop," Virgil instructed, handing over an icepack. "I'll bandage it then."

"Anything else?" Alan asked, his voice hesitant.

"Yep," the medic answered, pulling out his logbook, "leave the climbing to the monkeys."

He let out a sigh of relief and Virgil motioned that he was free to go. He could have probably been tougher on the kid, but there wasn't really a reason to. He didn't go out on call outs yet and, even if he did, Thunderbird Three had hand controls. There was very little chance of a bum knee making his life that difficult.

"Ow! Stupid stairs."

Then again, Alan always did have a knack for beating the odds …

* * *

I hope it was worth the wait.

Feedback and challenge words welcome.

My baby is acting so cute I can almost forget his shrill screaming an hour ago. (Now if I could just get him to sleep ...)

Goodnight.


End file.
